Absolution
by runninonfaith
Summary: Severus Snape's life is bare for all the world to see while he is on house arrest under Minerva McGonagall's supervision.  He has to prove himself worthy of Wizarding society to be released.  Can he do it?  AU, Angst, OOC, Fluff, Disregards Epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is JK Rowling's world. All characters belong to her and all mistakes are my own. Be gentle in your comments. This is my first SS/HG pairing and it's all in pure fun. Keep in mind that this takes place after the war, and I stick to canon when it's convenient. I have a blatant disregard for the way Severus Snape was treated in the book and I just want to give him a little happiness. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Humiliation

The five years following the night of the final battle left Severus Snape even more reclusive, callous, and bitter than all the years leading up to it. He had expected death to come to him on that night, and as far as he was concerned, he had put his affairs in order by paying his debts to Lily Potter, as well as to Albus Dumbledore. Just after Nagini's fangs had expunged the last of her venom into his blood stream, the free and easy feeling that was supposed to accompany death had begun to wash over him, and he had hoped to finally find peace from a life of living in the shadows of his past when he crossed over to the other side. However, that time never came.

Miss Hermione Granger had seen to it that peace should never enter his life. She had stormed into the desolate, creaking room, and blasted Nagini into splattering bloody bits all over the walls. She then proceeded to administer a vile tasting potion that he believed to be a failed attempt of antivenin. He was certain that her brew had not been for human consumption and was more poisonous than helpful, especially since it required the skill level of an advanced Potions Master to brew it. The delicate and time consuming process involved in creating an antivenin strong enough to supersede the dark power of Nagini's venom was far beyond her skill level and even he would have had to research the ingredients. Had he known at the time that he had underestimated the know-it-all's abilities to brew the damn potion, he would have never freely gifted his most precious and private of memories to Lily Potter's son.

It took two weeks for Snape to wake up from the coma that had been induced by Nagini's venom. He roused with a splitting headache made worse by the flash of a camera that blinded him. Once he was able to focus, an inquisition of paparazzi from all corners of the magical world filled the room, headed up by Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet. Her magic quill hovered just over her shoulder, and it obnoxiously scrawled every word she said, but he could not understand any of it with all of the others shouting questions at him at the same time.

The noise was deafening, and the unwelcome voice of Hermione Granger could be heard above it as she swept into the room, shouting orders, and throwing spells. Her voice was shrill and angry, and she blasted the ceiling, knocking a dusting of white powdery plaster onto the heads of the intruders. Startled at the sudden racket, they all became silent at once, and looked in her direction to see who had cast the explosive spell.

She screamed at them. "What do you think you're doing? Get out of here! All of you! Get Out! Now!"

They didn't move and she threw another spell to the ceiling, this time louder, and knocking larger crumbs and chunks from the plaster. In a matter of a few seconds, the room was empty and she warded the door with the strongest spells she knew, unable to look at the angry wizard behind her. Excited and dreading facing him, she busied herself by casting a Scourgify spell to clean up the mess she had made to prolong having to turn around.

In the meantime, Snape had picked up the complimentary copy of the Daily Prophet that lay within arm's reach on the night stand. He looked at the date and realized he had missed the past two weeks of what should have been his death by sleeping soundly in a hospital bed. Directly underneath the mast head of the newspaper was the headline 'Always'. His professional teaching picture appeared on one side and Lily Evans in her seventh year was on the other. He was relieved to see that his printed image was one from when he was much younger. He could do nothing but stare at her youthful smirking countenance. He had avoided looking at her picture or dwelling on _what could have been_ ever since he learned of her death and he had forgotten how beautiful and vibrant she used to be when they were friends.

His throat burned with regret and melancholy tears, an emotion he rarely ever felt, but rage replaced his reverie when he skimmed the article and realized that Rita Skeeter had detailed every single second of the memory he had gifted Potter. She had embellished his relationship with Lily Evans with possible pregnancy and questions as to the real paternity of the Boy Who Lived. His heart rate increased with every word he read, and by the end of the article, he was fuming mad. While he had been sleeping, the entire Wizarding world had been exposed to a twisted version of his most private and intimate memories.

Cowering before him, Hermione grasped the bed rail upon her approach, and she had to work hard to contain the joy she felt seeing him awake. She had been afraid that her potion had not worked effectively and she was worried that he would never awaken. It had only been an hour earlier that she had held his hand and whispered an apology to his sleeping form for having to leave him if only for a few moments.

Her voice was raspy when she spoke. "It's good to see you awake, Professor. I-I'm sorry about the reporters. I had a meeting with Professor McGonagall and they came in…"

He interrupted her with a grave tone. "I have no need for your presence in my hospital room, Miss Granger. I suggest you take your leave at once before I hex you into the next millennium."

She had not left the hospital since the night she brought him in. Her meeting with McGonagall had taken place in the cafeteria, despite her protests, but she went at the insistence of the Headmistress. The older witch had come to St. Mungo's to bring Hermione fresh robes and to beg her to go home to her flat for a proper night's rest. Hermione thanked her, but she had been anxious to return to Professor Snape's side just in case he should wake. She had secretly wanted hers to be the first face he saw, and she now cursed herself for leaving his side and for not being there to keep the reporters away. _Rita Skeeter must have paid a lot of money to an attendant to let them in_, she thought. Nevertheless, she would hear the full brunt of his anger if she didn't leave as he wished, but she needed a better reason than the one he was not giving before she could walk out the door.

Crossing his arms in front of him, his voice was intimidating enough to undermine the ridiculous hospital gown he was wearing. "Why are you still here gaping at me like a confused first year? Are you here to berate and humiliate me now that you have taken an omnipotent role in my existence? I assure you, Miss Granger that you cannot do anything to me that has not been done already."

She was exhausted and she had not anticipated the moment to play out as it was. Her lack of sleep did not allow for generous patience, and hers was wearing thin. _What the hell was he talking about? He is now the most powerful wizard alive and he is angry with me for keeping him alive?_

Crossing her arms defensively in front of her, she spoke with mustered patience. "I'm sorry, sir. I have no idea what you are talking about, but I cannot leave. Due to the lack of available medical personnel, I was given a temporary certificate to be your Medi-Witch so the others could tend to the wounded brought from the final battle. So…I believe you are stuck with me."

She did not add the fact that the other medical staff refused to treat him and she had volunteered because she cared about his wellbeing. She had stood vigil over him every slow ticking second that turned into minutes that stretched into the hours that had became weeks. She had been there to wipe the sweat from his brow when the poison caused him to convulse and she had successfully fought a small army of reporters for two solid weeks until today. She had administered his potions and draughts, testing each one for perfect quality, sometimes brewing them herself for the sake of having something to take her mind away from worrying about him. He had no idea and would never remember the devotion she had shown. She had not taken an active role in his recovery because she felt sorry for him as the papers said, but she had actually thought she could love him enough to save him. It was a notion she was quickly regretting, and she immediately cursed herself for thinking a strong wizard such as Severus Snape could ever want an insufferable know it all with bushy hair.

He hated her for keeping him alive and he believed she had only done it to torture him with the humiliation he knew was forthcoming. Whatever her reasons for thinking he wanted to live were irrelevant and he had no intention of finding out. He simply wanted to no longer be among the living. He could only glare at her with seething hatred. The more she spoke, the more he wanted to kill her, and he would no longer accept her medical attention now that he was lucid.

He threw the newspaper in her direction, but it flew apart, and the sections scattered across the floor. "Miss Granger." He hissed through gritted teeth. "Did it ever occur to your brilliant mind that I was prepared to die?"

The front page landed across her feet and displayed the pictures of Severus Snape and Lily Evans across her trainers. Fighting back stinging tears, she squeaked, "Professor, I don't understand. The war is over. The antivenin worked. You're alive!"

As soon as the words rolled from her tongue, it hit her that she had never taken into consideration the idea that he had wanted to die on that night. She knew that he had the ability to brew the necessary antivenin for his own protection, but she never questioned the fact that he had not administered it to himself. She had been the one to quickly pour it into his mouth when he had been unconscious.

She bent over to pick up the paper while trying to not feel the scorn emanating from her tattered former Potions Professor. Lily's beautiful, unforgotten green eyes seemed to mock him in the picture, hating appearing on the front page with him. Although she was dead, Lily's expressions in her picture made her feelings quite clear that she never reciprocated the love that Severus Snape had held for her, and Hermione's heart sank.

Not only had she violated the private life he had always required, but she had helped Harry to give the memory to the Ministry. Harry agreed that Snape should be honored as a hero and not scorned as an evil Death Eater, but someone in the Ministry leaked the information to the Daily Prophet and they printed every single detail of Snape's most precious and private of thoughts. She understood the humiliation he felt when he saw his life laid out for everyone to violate, only to have it made worse by the spite in Lily Potter's image. Hermione's eyes darted to his, and she was crushed with guilt when she unexpectedly glimpsed into the despondent soul of a lost human being that lay beneath the façade of a curtain of black hair and intensifying anger. He had every right to hate her and at that moment she even hated herself.

"I-I'm sorry, Professor," she whispered, sadly laying the paper on the bed next to him. She was defeated. The only thing left to do for him was to give him what he wanted and leave his sight and never return. She grimaced when she saw the dark detestation in his midnight eyes and she turned to leave, defeated and worried that she would not find another Medi-Witch to replace her.

As soon as she reached the door, it was flung open from the outside, and two Aurors she did not know pushed her back into the room with their wands pointed at her face, startling her out of her sadness. The taller one seized her wand and held his pointed toward her forehead while the other one made his way over to Snape.

He pointed his wand at Snape's chest and spoke authoritatively. "Severus Snape, you are hereby arrested for the crimes of a Death Eater and the murder of Albus Dumbledore by order of the Ministry of Magic."

"No!" Hermione insisted. "He just woke from a coma and he's in no shape to leave the hospital!"

The one pointing his wand at her replied, "He looks fine to me."

"I want to see your credentials!" Hermione protested with a shrill and authoritative voice. "I've never seen you before and I don't know who you are! Prove to me that you are who you say!"

Dragging his wand from her temple to her chin very slowly, his mouth turned into a devious smirk. "And exactly who do you think you are, Miss?"

Crossing her arms defensively, she replied smugly, "I happen to be his Medi-Witch and so far you have shown me no credentials!"

"You be careful, there, Miss. Or we will have to arrest you for obstruction of justice." Pulling a wallet from inside his jacket, he flipped it open to show her the plastic folder holding his credentials.

"Is it possible to Apperate to Azkaban from inside this room?" Snape asked the arresting Auror with convincing indifference.

The Auror was amused with the Potions Master's cool, and he smiled when he replied, "Fraid not."

Snape threw back the covers and slowly stood, wobbly at first, but more concerned with keeping the back of the hospital gown closed. Holding the back of the gown together with his left hand, he used the other to balance himself as he shuffled toward the door. He stopped in front of Hermione and glared at her through his curtain of oily hair.

Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Your services are no longer required, Miss Granger, and you are to never come near me again!"

She could only look away from him. The hurt and anger in his voice made her wish the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She ignored the Auror whose wand was aimed directly at her head and walked away to retrieve Snape's heavy outer cloak from the tiny closet behind her. She approached him from behind and placed the long black shroud on his shoulders just before he exited the room, and she immediately saw some of his dignity return after he pulled it around him to better cover his attire.

Entering the hallway, he was blinded by the strobe lights of numerous cameras snapping unbecoming pictures of him being shackled and taken to Azkaban. Most embarrassing of all was that he was unable to hide the tiny purple flowers that decorated the teal background of the hospital gown. The filaments of his raven black hair covered all of his face except his protruding nose, which looked more like a beak than a body organ.

The only audible words he said was "Well, hell."

He was quoted in the Daily Prophet the next day along with a full length frontal view of him in bare feet, giving him the appeal of an indigent homeless man.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Open Book

The memory Snape had gifted Harry proved useful in bringing about a speedy trial. For a Death Eater, six months in Azkaban Prison was a short time to have to wait. He was given a clean set of robes and had been allowed to take a shower before appearing before the Wizengamot, but he was not allowed a razor for shaving. He had lost weight and the robes sagged from the seat of his pants and off his shoulders. The shirt and the pants were a simple construction of two pieces of white loosely woven fibers sewn together at the sides with a drawstring to hold up the bottoms. His set was a less dingy color than others he had seen, and they were successful in taking away his identity of a dark, mysterious wizard. His unkept black hair fell below his shoulders and his beard was wiry, making him look more like a demonic criminal than a Potions Master.

He was surprised when the trial lasted as long as it did due to the yawning and boredom of the biased panel of distinguished witches and wizards pretending to listen to the testimonies being given. As former friends of Delores Umbridge, their minds had been made up to convict him when they walked into the courtroom. Some sneered at him, but most of them avoided looking at him at all. He decided right then that a lifetime in Azkaban would be fine with him simply for the seclusion afforded in the small cells.

After only two hours of litigation, the Wizengamot voted to cease hearing testimony and vote. While they deliberated, Kingsley looked upon Snape with empathy and apology. This was one of those situations where he had to please the jury without further damaging the already shattered reputation of the office of Minister of Magic left by the former administration. Snape could have cared less at that point. He expected to spend the rest of his life in prison and had already resigned himself to the fact. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Snape looked away from Kingsley, and his line of vision landed directly on Hermione Granger. He was puzzled by her saddened expression and obvious concern for him. She broke eye contact as soon as tears began streaming down her face.

Kingsley took the paper from the Chief Warlock and read it silently before announcing the decision. The gavel sounded after two hours of litigation, sentencing him to twenty years hard time in Azkaban with no chance of parole. He was never called to speak, but Hermione Granger jumped to her feet and tearfully and pleaded on his behalf. Minerva McGonagall came to her side, protesting the unfair judgment, and questioned the integrity of the court, insinuating they were biased and reckless. The new Minister of Magic, Kingsley, understood McGonagall's meaning, and he trusted her judgment above all others as a highly ranked member of the Order. He allowed their voices to be heard and as a result, without jeopardizing the fragile new trust of his constituents, he reduced Snape's sentence to ten years of 'house arrest' under Mcgonagall's direct supervision. He was told that he could be done sooner if he _proved himself worthy of Wizarding World Society_. He had no idea what that meant. If spying for the Order while putting his life in danger at every turn, and helping to defeat the most dangerous wizard to ever exist did not prove his loyalty to the light, then he wanted nothing more to do with society as a whole. He had preferred a lifetime sentence in Azkaban rather than another ten years beholden to a superior.

As the years drug on, he succeeded in avoiding the outside world, but the constant nagging of Minerva McGonagall and Rita Skeeter's gossip column had almost driven him to the grey areas of insanity. He simply wanted to be left alone to live out his life in peace, but Skeeter had found great success in his misfortune.

It only took four years into his sentence for Rita Skeeter to finally lose interest in him. For the past year, he had not made the front page, but he continued to receive 'fan mail', as Minerva called it. He despised her calling it that because it equated him with that self worshipping imbecile Gilderoy Lockhart, and there was no way he was going to be compared to that idiot. However, Minerva was in charge of his rehabilitation, not that he felt that he needed rehabilitating, and he had no choice but to adhere to her commands as his counselor, no matter how embarrassing the task may be. Part of her prescribed daily routine was that he read his fan mail. The letters were supposed to uplift him, but it was the verbal dismemberment of her character while throwing the letters into the fire that best improved his mood.

As his dislike of Minerva McGonagall grew, he focused more of his energy on blaming Miss Granger for everything bad about the undesirable life he had been forced to live as a result of having lived past that night. At least he had somewhat of a choice as to whether or not carry out Dumbledore's imbalanced orders, but she had acted without consultation or warning. Having blocked out any positive experiences that may have included her, his seething hatred of the omnipotent young witch fed his misery, but he could never make sense as to why she would save his life in the first place. The only conclusion he could reach was that her motives for keeping him alive was the revenge she sought for the harsh way he had always treated her. Or better yet, perhaps she, too, had seen him as a traitor for killing Albus Dumbledore, and she knew the only way to make him truly suffer was to keep him alive. Either way he looked at it, she had ample motives for hating him.

He despised the way the new Headmistress treated him like an overly protectant mother, but he was certain that as the years had passed, she had come to resent him in some ways as much as he resented her. She decided when he slept, showered, ate his meals, and taught his classes. She even went as far as to force him to exercise every day after lunch for an hour. He was not allowed to leave the walls of the castle without her as a chaperone and he felt more stifled than he ever had while acting as a double agent. The dark Potions classroom was his prison and the Goblin-forged shackle around his ankle chained him safely away from the outside world.

He would have preferred a stroll on his own, but she was hell-bent on keeping a strict schedule, and she fetched him every afternoon at 1:00pm sharp to escort him to the grounds for a walk. He had suggested they walk in the early morning or late afternoon during the summer months, but she refused to negotiate. He preferred a cooler climate and she knew he hated to be hot. He assumed the required sweltering walks at the hottest time of the day were part of his punishment.

"Honestly, Minerva!" Snape gasped, looking up from his book. "It is pouring rain outside and I do not wish to drown while waiting on you to finish one of your drawn-out life experience tales." He sat back in his chair, and crossed his legs, diverting his eyes back to his book. "I wish to be left alone to ponder my solitude," he grumbled, acting disinterested.

Ignoring his usual protest, Minerva McGonagall's small frame moved further into the room with purpose. "In that case, I am glad I brought this for you," she calmly said, handing him a brand new tightly rolled black umbrella. "This way you won't get wet," she added, maintaining an authoritatively jovial air.

He cursed under his breath as he stood and slammed the book closed so hard it forced the dust from the covers, forming a slow, floating cloud above it. "And no wizard should be without his wand, Minerva!" He begrudgingly took the umbrella while tossing the book haphazardly onto his chair.

She eyed him carefully. "Your wand shall be returned to you when you can behave yourself. You know the rules, Severus," she replied, tightening her lips.

"_Fuck_ the rules!" he hissed through gritted teeth.

She crossed her arms and frowned at him for his use of foul language.

"What the hell kind of harm could I do to 'Wizarding society if I want nothing to do with 'Wizarding society' whatsoever?" He asked, stifling the urge to scream.

Ignoring her reaction, he went to the door, and held it open, motioning for her to exit. Lifting the corners of his mouth, he mustered his patience, and appeared overly cordial. "After you, Minerva."

She exited in a huff and was startled at the slamming of the door behind her. When she turned around, she found him locked inside his room.

Tapping on the door with her umbrella, she called to him through the wood with a high pitched singing tone. "Severus, if you don't go outside today I won't tell you the good news I have for you!" She knew he hated it when she did that, but she couldn't resist the temptation.

Inside, Snape paced the floor, fighting his urge to strangle the unbearable woman. He believed he'd had all he could take of her 'do-goodery'. Still, he could use some good news, and past experience told him that hers was always excellent information when she boasted it. He had not been allowed news of the world outside the castle because she had deemed it 'destructive'. He had assumed that she meant it was bad for him, but he later learned that it was actually because he tended to destroy things when he read the tabloid. Occasionally she would enlighten him to positive truths happening on in the outside world, carefully keeping him in the dark about everything else. He unlocked the door and meekly slipped out.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Sorry. I forgot my erm…gloves." Reaching in his pocket, he was glad to have found at least one glove left in there from the last bout of cool weather.

Smiling, she watched him awkwardly pulling on the single black glove, and she laughed, "Severus, I do not believe a simple rainstorm in June requires leather gloves."

He was humiliated, but he was used to that particular feeling by now. Shoving the glove deep into his cloak pocket, he asked, "What is the _good news_ you have for me, Minerva?"

She didn't speak, but when they reached the front door of the castle, she pulled it open, and frowned when she heard the white noise of the heavy rain slapping the grounds. "Perhaps you're right, Severus. I do not think it is a good day for a walk. We shall go to my office instead."

Upon entry to her office, he laughed out loud at the décor. He had only been to her office a few times since he arrived under her guardianship five years prior and he had not yet seen what she had done to the place. Over the hearth, she had placed a taxidermy moose head with antlers the size of the front bumper of a small automobile, and she had strung colorful beads from the matrix of its horns. The arched hallway leading to her private quarters was masked by a beaded curtain that matched the decorations on the moose head. She had replaced Dumbledore's oversized antique Persian rug with the skins of several zebras that still had the heads attached, and he looked at the former Headmaster's still portrait hanging over the desk with great surprise before he began to laugh out loud.

Holding the door frame with his right hand, he tried to stifle the giggles from his abdomen with his left, but the scene had taken him by complete surprise, and he was beyond his senses. He fell into a helpless belly laugh that echoed into the hallway, and down the stairs. He did not ever remember having a laugh that hearty, and he could not help himself from the outburst.

"Minerva." He spoke her name as a snorted sentence. "What happened?"

Minerva stood in front of her desk holding her hands in front of her and waited for him to cease laughing. "I am glad I could provide you with an entertaining moment. Would you like to enlighten me as to why you are acting like an immature first year?"

He looked at her and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, still giggling. "You mean you don't _know_?" He asked, falling into another fit of helpless, oxygenated mirth.

He tried to calm down, but the more he stifled the laughter, the worse it became. He managed to make it to the cushy leopard skin chair across from her desk, but as soon as he sat on the cushion, it roared, sending him into another fit of hilarity. Thankful to be sitting down, he sank into the chair as he crossed his legs, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He exhaled a long gasp of air, and audibly blew it out slowly.

Twisting an earring, she appeared exasperated, and turned to leave. "While you finish your party I will make tea." Flinging apart the beaded curtains, she disappeared into her rooms, and closed the door.

Testing another deep, needed breath without laughing, he only got half of it exhaled before he saw the items on her desk. The first curious artifact he observed was an ornate hookah, still smoldering from recent use. His mouth dropped open and he quietly mused, "Minerva, you naughty, naughty girl. Tsk tsk tsk."

He actually liked the lava lamp on her desk that she had spelled to slowly move globs of …_is that blood_? He stood to have a closer look and he moved to sit in her chair to study it, but he tripped on something, and conveniently landed on the fuzzy neon pink cushion that softened the Headmaster's chair.

As soon as his backside touched it, the pillow screamed like a house cat in a nasty fight, and he jumped back to his feet, tossing the hissing fur ball across the room. He tried to figure out what had made Minerva do such a horrid thing to her décor. Looking down at the hookah, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Lifting an eyebrow, he assumed she was puffing the herb, and was going through a psychedelic stage as a way to cope, but that just didn't suit her persona. He dismissed the thought to study the bleeding lava lamp, and sat on her chair to get a better look. He quickly glanced at the floor to see what he had tripped over, and he saw that he had kicked over a thick black book that had been leaning against the desk. He picked it up to peek inside and he realized it was a scrapbook that Minerva had been keeping of all his appearances in the news since the final battle.

He had not been allowed to read the Daily Prophet since his outburst after they printed the details of the memory he had given Potter and he had depended solely on Minerva to tell him what was happening on the outside world. Occasionally he would hear the students talking and snickering behind his back, propelling spun rumors involving him in a romantic relationship with the young witch he despised the most. The whispered accusations were upsetting, so he quickly learned to tune them out.

On the first page was the hideous picture someone had snapped when he first awoke from his coma. The flash from the camera had blinded him, and his hand partially obstructed the frame, giving him more of an appearance of a dying drug addict. He didn't read the article since he already knew what it said, so he flipped to the next page to be face to face with a picture of Lily Evans just as he remembered her from their Hogwarts days. A lump formed in his throat, and he moved on to the next page where there was a very unbecoming picture of Miss Granger outside his hospital room at St. Mungo's. She was angry and "very protective of her former professor", the article had said. Flipping through the next several pages in the book were more and more articles that alluded to him having had a romantic relationship with the young witch. He felt as though he would vomit.

"Blaspheme! An outrage!" He gasped, turning the page.

Minerva placed a hot cup of tea in front of him and did not make him move from behind her desk, nor did he look up from the book. Instead, she sat across from him, and calmly watched him over her cup as she took a long swig of the warm liquid. "You should not be pilfering around my desk, Severus."

He did not look up from what he was reading, but he read aloud, "…Miss Granger's loyalty to the snarky Potions Master only validates her true love for the murderer of Albus Dumbledore…" He stopped reading, and looked at Minerva inquisitively. "_Snarky_? Do you think I am _snarky_? I do not believe that is even a word. And why did they insist on using that horrific picture of me in every _single_ article?"

Minerva smiled and looked at her tea, then back at him with a more serious expression. "How do you feel about what you are looking at?"

He started with a soft tone, but he became louder after each word. "I am startled, baffled, sickened, stifled, imprisoned, betrayed, sheltered, depressed, lonely, and hungry! Would you like me to continue?"

"You may say whatever is on your mind. There is still a half hour left of our break."

She sat her cup and saucer on the desk. "I noticed you did not include the word angry on your list."  
"I'm not angry, Minerva. I'm _pissed off_, is what I am!" He stood from her desk, intending to walk away from the book, but he turned just one more page and saw an altered image of Miss Hermione Granger in his arms, looking at the camera in surprise. "This never happened! How did they manage to do make a photograph tell a lie?"

She offered a reassuring smile, "Don't worry, Severus. It was found to have been a fake and the photographer was publicly humiliated, as well. Miss Granger was more than upset for the both of you. She hired an attorney and won a hefty settlement. Your half is in your vault at Gringott's waiting for your release from custody. Miss Granger deposited the full amount of one million knuts personally. I hope that helps you to feel better."

Lifting an eyebrow, he answered, "Somewhat." Calmly turning to the next page, he added, "At least it was a decent picture of me."

He stopped and stared at a picture of an elegant and familiar young woman in Florish and Blotts signing a book. She looked up and smiled sincerely while she handed the book to a waiting fan. He touched the image with the tips of his fingers without thinking. Referring to the small fortune, he asked softly, "Half?"

Minerva nodded and smiled.

He continued to try and place the face of the young woman in the photograph, and he recognized a cardboard cutout of his likeness standing behind her. The title of her book was "The Bravest Man I ever Knew. A fiction based on a true story." He pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the flustered total confusion that overcame him when he recognized the young woman as Hermione Granger.

Slamming the book shut on the hard wood surface of the desk sent shockwaves across it and he did not see it rattle the items on the desk top. The hookah wheezed, and the slow moving red globs in the lava lamp began to beat like a heart, scurrying from top to bottom in a pulsating river.

Throwing his hands in the air, he gasped, "I am so fucking tired of the world deciding who and what I am or what I have or have not done! Why does my personal life have to be put on display for the whole of the wizarding world to mock? She has profited from my misery and will never stop punishing me."

She calmly sipped her tea. His temper tantrums were predictable and he had never physically hurt someone when he had them, so she felt safe to cross her legs, and ignore his behavior. She spoke as if she was asking someone to pass the potatoes. "Severus, you are such a selfish ass. She has proven herself time and again and now she has written the most successful book in wizarding history. I think you should read the book before you speak another word. You know as well as I that Miss Granger is a capable writer. I think you would be pleasantly surprised at what she has written about you. And like you, Severus, she has had her own share of misery since the war."

"I have no intention of reading the dreadful story of my life and I have no interest in hearing any more about the little know-it-all. Is it not enough that my life has been laid out for the world through the eyes of Rita Skeeter's nonsense just to have it further intruded upon by Miss Granger? A witch with as much intellectual promise as she could have spent her time better by publishing research or doing whatever it is that intelligent young witches do with their lives!" Slamming the book shut, he hissed, "What a waste!" He turned his back and ran his hands through his hair.

Minerva eyed him carefully over the rim of her cup and placed it on the saucer. "Severus, sit down and drink your tea because I have something to tell you."

He sat behind her desk, glaring at her while she took another leisurely swig from her cup and silently waited for her to speak.

"There is an opportunity for you to be released from the sentence you are serving. I am tired of watching over you day and night. I know you are miserable and so am I. You are my friend, Severus, and I love you, but you have begun to annoy me, and I am quite certain that I will hex you into oblivion if I am not soon rid of you. I have other duties that need tending to worse than you, so please don't let me down on this mission." She smiled warmly.

"Indeed," he agreed, waiting on the bomb to drop.

She gulped the last of her tea, and he became exasperated waiting for her to finish giving him the details of her 'mission'.

"Oh, look, Severus! The sun has come out." Setting her cup and saucer on her desk, she stood, and grabbed her umbrella. "We shall continue this conversation outside. We need to get out of this castle every day at least for a little while. Also, I must return these…items to the Weasley twins before their party this weekend, and I don't want you to destroy any of them."

"You set this horrendous room like this to amuse me?" He looked around the room once more. He attempted to smirk, but a surprising smile came to his face. Exhaling loudly, he could not hide his obvious amusement. "It worked," he said, almost whispering.

He followed her in silence through the castle and onto the front steps leading to the lawn.

Exiting the Great Door, he took two steps out, and the sky started raining again. He popped open his umbrella and hesitated before walking any further. Minerva was already ahead of him, and he hurried to catch up. He did not see the puddle before stepping in it, covering his shoes to his ankles. Free-flowing explicatives fell from his mouth with each squishing step. He was certain the old witch's wits had been tampered with or she was showing signs of Wizardheimer's disease. However, he would never admit that the cool water soaking his shoes actually felt good and refreshing to his hot boot clad feet.

They strolled in silence and he was grateful for it. He acted aloof, but he was increasingly anxious about her 'good news' and he saw her silence as a test of his patience, of which he had none. The droplets fell from the sky at an increasing pace and the noise was deafening as it slapped the grounds. He paid no attention to where they were going as he watched his feet disappearing in the puddles, enjoying the white noise of the rain drowning out all other sounds. Minerva stopped, and he looked up to see the engraving of the tomb in front of him.

"Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore," he read aloud, over-enunciating each vowel and consonant. His voice was grave and raspy when he asked, "Why did you bring me here, Minerva? Is this your idea of a joke? One minute you have me laughing and the next you are taking me to the depths of despair."

He felt sick standing next to Dumbledore's grave. He wanted to strangle her for taking him there, but he refrained, just wanting to hear the bulk of what she wanted him to do. He was certain that whatever she had in store for him would be a challenge, but he was determined to perform it successfully no matter how ridiculous or humiliating the situation would allow. Afterward, he would flee to a far off place where no one knew him, and he would live out his years in divine solitude, only seeing other people when it becomes absolutely necessary. He hated himself for carrying out the old man's wishes, and he was certain that he would faint. To make matters worse, the rain let up and the sun burst out from behind a cloud, demanding back the moisture from the ground, and the steamy heat was overwhelmingly worsened by all the black layers of his robes.

Minerva saw him swaying, and she reached out her hand to steady him. Squeezing his arm, she said, "I promise you there is a point to bringing you here. Breathe, Severus. It is not as bad as you may think."

Snape shook open his white handkerchief and blotted the moisture away from his forehead, and held his umbrella over his head to block the sun.

"Miss Granger's book has helped you more than you will ever know. Kingsley is ready to lift your sentence pending my evaluation. If you can prove to me that you can maintain a sense of civility and behave as a gentleman in public, I will write you a glowing recommendation and you may leave here a free and very wealthy wizard."

Snape could keep his cool no longer. The very mention of Miss Granger's name angered him "Miss Granger, Miss Granger, Miss Granger! That's all I hear about! Wasn't it enough that you and Albus coddled her as a student, allowing her to break the rules while rewarding her? Do you know how dangerous that was for her and her dunderheaded friends? It was reckless of both of you!"

She held up her hands and shook her head. "Severus, this is exactly what I'm trying to get you to stop doing. There will always be people you don't particularly care for. It is unfortunate that you do not return the high esteem in which Miss Granger regards you."

He rolled his eyes and began to pace, mumbling several words under his breath, and concluded with a very audible, "Insufferable know-it-all!"

"Listen to me, Severus!" She reprimanded, pointing her finger at him. "Let me remind you of what you have to lose by not changing your behavior. I know you're angry! You've made your point time and time again! You need to know that she has fought valiantly for your reputation as a leading force in the fight against the Dark Lord. I would think you would be somewhat grateful."

"Grateful?" he asked through gritted teeth. "I will not be grateful to someone who murdered me by keeping me alive."

She studied him for a moment with an expression of grave concern. "Oh, Severus," she said in a disappointed voice. "I don't know if I can let you go off on your own like this. I know that you can hear me, but you are not listening. You need to open your ears and consider the opinions of other people. You are spending too much energy being angry and bitter when all you have to do is stop for a moment and see the beauty around you. Find something to appreciate. I recently practiced this exercise on myself. I put all of my prejudices aside and experienced the memory you gifted Potter solely through your eyes and it made me realize something about myself.

Snape looked up from his soggy boots to meet her sad, watery blue eyes.

Putting her hand to her mouth, she took a deep breath as she fought off tears. "It turns out that I was angry that you were so damn loyal to Albus that you would actually…_euthanize_ him as he wished. He trusted you to do it, but that has scarred you so deeply that…" She could not finish her sentence, but she continued in silent thought, _you cannot be fixed._ "In turn, I am…_was… _angry with him for what he asked of you and I apologize to you for having questioned your loyalties. I hope that one day you can find the peace of mind that comes with forgiveness." She smiled at him warmly through her tears. "I forgive you, Severus. I only hope that in time you can learn to forgive _yourself_, as well as Albus. Only then will you truly be…free."

Snape slowly lowered himself onto a nearby ornate bench, ignoring the water as it soaked through his clothing to his skin, and he allowed her words to process in his mind. Exhaling, he studied his hands gripping the handle of his umbrella. No one had yet said anything like that to him until that moment, and he was puzzled and surprised. Forgetting that he should be angry with the old witch, he considered her words, and he agreed with her. He was certain he would hyperventilate, thus allowing the infernal woman the formal acknowledgement of being right.

She turned and busied herself with magically refreshing the wilting flowers on a wreath that she had placed there on the day of the funeral years before. He watched as she meticulously touched each leaf and petal, taking great gratification in her task. He could tell that she routinely visited the tomb to maintain and tidy her friend's grave as a way of paying tribute to the great wizard he was. She missed her friend, and he felt a familiar empty pang tugging the back of his throat as his muscles flexed to cry. He missed the old, meddling bastard, too, but he would never admit to it. _Only Veritaserum could bring out that ugly truth, _he thought. He lowered his umbrella in front of him as a wall to hide behind long enough to roughly wipe his eyes.

"There is one more thing I need to tell you, Severus," she said in a businesslike manner.

He did not speak, but raised his umbrella over his head to see her, and wiped the sweat from his brow. _Merlin, it was hot outside_.

Sitting on the opposite bench, she popped her umbrella back open and held it over her own head to use as a parasol to block the radiating heat of the sun. She was beaming with something like a great secret that she couldn't wait to share. "You need some time away from the castle as well as I, so I have planned the perfect outing. There will be no students to supervise and no duties for you to perform other than to have a good time. Do you think you are capable of such an undertaking?"

Snape showed no emotion, but he had to respond or she would never tell him of the task. As if answering Umbridge's inquisition, he replied, "I'm listening."

She became more excited as she talked. "Professor Flitwick has connections with…well, that doesn't matter, but he has tickets for Saturday evening's concert reunion performance of _Phantom of the Opera_ at London's West End!" She waited for his reaction, hoping he would be as excited has herself. When he did not respond immediately, she added, "The original cast is reuniting! The performance is by invitation only! It is an honor to go!" She moved to adjust a flower she missed on the tomb.

He showed no emotion whatsoever.

She stopped fluffing the pansies to better sell her idea to him. "It is in Muggle London, Severus. I don't think there will be reporters following you around."

Unimpressed, he had seen the play in his fifth year when she took him and a few others as a reward for their high OWL scores. He had enjoyed the music, but found flaw with the overly romantic Phantom, who ended up needlessly losing his life because of foolishly thinking a beautiful girl like Christine would ever want a monster. However, he would enjoy hearing the lovely duets as well as the intensity of the phantom's theme played on a massive pipe organ.

"We will don our finest Muggle dress robes and hear some of London's most famous performers!" She became more excited the more she talked about it.

He certainly had no interest in wearing Muggle clothing, especially into the den of pompous, bureaucratic non-magical society chattering about. He responded dryly, "Thank you for the invitation, but I'm afraid my Muggle dress robes are a bit non-existent. Since I have no desire to acquire new ones, I will decline your offer and quietly sit on my arse inside the deafening silence of my quarters with a good book while you enjoy yourselves. I have no plans to wait up. Think of something else for me to do to prove myself worthy of wizarding society." He turned to walk back to the castle.

Exasperated, she retaliated, "Severus, you _have _to go because _I_ want to go! I cannot leave you unsupervised, so I'm afraid you'll have to make exception!" She exhaled and offered an apologetic smile. "I am also asking you as a friend to go with us. This will be your chance to get out of your current situation. I can't imagine a wizard alive who wouldn't want to get out of prison and go spend his millions by doing whatever strikes his fancy."

"Millions?" He asked.

"Yes, Severus. You wouldn't think Miss Granger would write a book solely based on you and not compensate you for the inspiration, now do you?"

Snape eyed the old witch while he gave thought to her question. "I do not know what to think anymore. However, I think that I am very hot right now and I am going back to the dungeons."

She waited and did not make a counter offer for a different task.

He stopped and dropped his shoulders before turning to face her. He resented being so easily manipulated. Exhaling a long, resigned breath, he asked, "What time do we leave?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Just a reminder: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm just sending them places other than Hogwarts.

Chapter 3

Severus Snape smirked as he took in the sight of himself in the full length mirror glaring before him. He turned his head to the right to make sure the tuxedo collar covered the fading scar on his neck left by Nagini. Satisfied the ugly mark was well hidden by the wing tip collar, he pulled back his hair in a ponytail that started at the nape of his neck and stopped just below his shoulders. The black ribbon was as dark as his hair and he tied it in a tight knot so no strands could escape. He should have had Winky cut his hair, but he dismissed the thought as he straightened his black bowtie and meticulously thumped away a piece of fuzz from his lapel. He appreciated the light weight of the warm weather fabric, as well as the deep black color. He could have done without the satin stripe down the sides of his pant legs, but he was satisfied that he looked Muggle enough to blend into their world.

He instinctively started to move across the room to retrieve his wand from his cloak pocket, but he quickly remembered that it had been locked up in Minerva's office for five years. Looking at his face in the mirror, he saw the defeat in his own eyes, and he said aloud, "You can do this, old man."

A quick knock at the door startled him and he whisked around to answer it, but he stopped when he heard the squeaking of his shiny black patent leather dress shoes. He rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air with frustration just as Minerva entered without waiting for him to open the door.

He bit his lips to keep from verbally nailing her to the wall for invading his privacy.

"Severus! You look wonderful! I had no idea you could clean up so well! You should do it more often!" Crossing the room to reach him, she pointed her wand in the direction of his ankle, and commanded, "Divesto!"

He was puzzled as to why she removed the shackle from around his ankle. Staring at her, his mouth dropped open, and he rotated his foot, glad to be free of the uncomfortably hot metal band. He had not felt air touch that place since it was forged around his leg five years prior. Placing his foot back on the floor, he took a step forward, but he was once again halted by the obnoxiously loud squeak of his shoe.

Minerva pointed her wand in the direction of his feet and cast a silencing spell on his shoes. She became serious, as if giving instructions on how to produce a Patronus to a kindergardner. "Tonight will be a test. Kingsley will be joining us after intermission, so you must be on your best behavior. If you are, the band will remain off. However, I should warn you that if there is one argument, one altercation, one hurled insult, or one slip up I will replace it where you stand and I will not take it off ever again until your sentence is completed. Is that clear?"

The relief he felt with the chain removed was overwhelming, and all he could do was nod in understanding.

Flitwick met them downstairs at the front door, ready to load the carriage. Snape watched the tiny man offer a small hand to Minerva. She took his stubby fingers to be gracious, but she had to pull herself up by the handle on the side of the compartment. He waited impatiently for Flitwick to climb inside, but the little man could not reach the step. Snape hoisted him into the carriage and effortlessly put one foot up and swung his body on the seat opposite the couple. Folding his hands on his lap, he looked out the tiny circular window next to his head and swore to himself he would remain quiet for the duration of the trip.

They had just exited the front gate of Hogwarts when he spoke without thinking, "Honestly, Minerva! Why are we not Apperating to London? This will take forever and we do not have that long!"

"Settle down, Severus," she replied, enjoying the ride. "The carriage ride was Professor Flitwick's idea. I think it is a lovely touch for the occasion," she said through a smile directed to the small man sitting beside her.

"I refuse to walk in late and have everyone stare. Muggles just love to stare!" He wished he was back in the dungeon with a bottle of Ogden's.

"Don't worry. We will make it on time. Where is your sense of romance?" She asked, smiling at Flitwick.

Rolling his eyes, he could not dignify her question with an answer, and he almost became nauseous when Flitwick patted her hand and looked at her approvingly with adoration in his gaze. Suddenly, the carriage felt like it had been sucked into a tunnel and was spun around for what felt like a half hour before stopping. Snape closed his eyes and did not open them until the dizziness of compartmental Appiration had passed.

"Brilliant!" Snape gasped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I will not be held responsible if I lose the contents of my stomach on either one of you."

Minerva and Flitwick giggled like a couple of hormonal adolescents and he could not wait to exit the compartment. He was the first one out and he realized they were in the alley behind the theater, safely out of sight from any Muggle onlookers. He instinctively patted his pocket for his wand, which wasn't there. "Damn! Damn! Damn!" He hissed.

Exiting the carriage, Minerva reprimanded him, "Now, now, Severus. Remember the rules of the evening. Behave yourself!"

Exhaling loudly, he could not help but notice that she looked elegant in her Muggle clothes. He had never seen her in anything other than teaching regalia and he was certain that she could pass for British royalty in her flowy light blue evening gown. Her hair was in a less tight bun than usual and her face was softened by the pink lipstick she wore. Of course, he was in no mood to pay her a compliment. After all, she was the one telling him what to do and ordering him around, so he kept his opinion to himself.

She turned around to help Flitwick out of the carriage, but while she was at eye level with him, the little man stopped before jumping out to give the giggling woman a kiss on the cheek.

Snape gasped, "Wouldn't you two rather be alone?" He took off taking long strides to the front of the theatre, hoping to escape the embarrassment of their flirting.

Once inside, Snape found himself surrounded by the exact crowd of wealthy Muggles he had hoped to avoid. All of them standing clumped in small groups, gossiping and boasting. He stayed by the door and waited for his companions to finally make it up the long set of steps to the lobby. Minerva was moving slow enough to allow Flitwick's short legs to keep up with her. She was still laughing, but holding the small hand of her date as they huffed up the last few steps. Snape held the door open for them and she immediately called to someone she knew across the crowded room as soon as she got inside.

Waving her opera glasses in the air, she let go of Flitwick's hand, and called out, "Mr. and Mrs. Potter! How lovely it is to see you! I'm so glad you could come!"

Snape was right behind her, and he said aloud facetiously, "Excellent, Minerva. _Exactly _who I wanted to see tonight."

She ignored him, and hugged the smiling married couple. "I'm so happy for you both!" She motioned to the bulge under Ginny's evening gown.

Harry touched his wife's stomach, and boasted, "We are due in August!" The young wizard's grin became a full blown smile when he looked at Snape. "We're naming him Albus Severus Potter."

Severus nodded, but thought _how embarrassing for that poor child. Let the playground beatings begin. _ Just as he rolled his eyes, the unwelcome voice of Ronald Weasley approaching the group from behind caused him to ball his fists at his sides.

Not only had Minerva forced him to wear the uncomfortable penguin costume of a Muggle, she had also subjected him to further humiliation by surprising him with a reunion with people he never really liked in the first place, especially Ronald Weasley. His time with Potter and his friends was finished and he wanted to put the past twenty five years of his life behind him, but when he looked at them, every horrific memory of the events they shared came back to him at flash forward speed. There was no way he could make a run for the door for the thick crowd of Muggles blocking every turn, so he took a deep breath and bit his lips to keep from speaking. He knew that if he made a sound, it would be an insult or a compliment that he would negate by the comment that would follow.

Ron laughed as he passed by Snape without recognizing his former Potions professor. Opening his arms when he saw Harry, he teased, "They just let any old bloke in here, don't they, Harry!" The two boys hugged like brothers who had not seen one another in years. Ginny, Minerva, and Flitwick joined them, forming a group hug, gaining sighs of awe from passers-by.

Rolling his eyes at the sight of the sickening reunion taking place in front of him, he commented a little too loudly, "I may bloody well vomit."

Minerva turned to Snape and wiped the happy tears from her eyes just before changing her upbeat tone to one of a very stern schoolteacher. "Severus, I need you to come with me." Pulling Snape away by his sleeve, she told the others, "Excuse me for one second, please. I need to go see about our tickets."

He heard the group laughing as they walked away from them. He assumed they were sniggering at the less than subtle way Minerva was tugging him across the room, and he snapped. "Damn woman! Damn Potter! Damn Weasley! Unhand me, woman!"

She towed him behind her to a door off to the side of the lobby, and she flung it open while dragging him inside. He stopped and turned to retaliate verbally when she warded the door and flipped the Muggle light switch on the wall, bringing to life a blinding electric light bulb overhead. He used his hand as a visor to block the sudden beam of light radiating in his eyes.

"What is the meaning of this, Minerva?" A seething anger raged inside him. "You set me up, didn't you? You _knew_ they would be here!"

Placing her hands on her hips, she was so livid she could hardly speak. Her voice was a screaming whisper. "Will you please quit your incessant bitching?" She snapped. "You have bitched non-stop since we left the castle and I am tired of it! Don't make me regret bringing you to this event!"

"Merlin's balls, woman! I…" His retaliation was muffled by the silencing spell she smote him with. He instinctively put his hands to his throat when no sound came as he struggled to yell at her. He could feel the vibrations of his voice in his body, but there was no audible sound coming forth.

Her patience had run completely out, and she took a step toward him, pointing her long, aged finger at him. Disciplining him like a mother would reprimand a young, unruly child, she hissed, "This is a lesson in listening, Severus Snape! This is a test of how well you hear the world around you without interjecting your comments. I deserve a night out and you are going to shut the hell up and let me enjoy it! The last thing I want is to have you chained inside the castle with me for the next five years! Now, go out there and try not to embarrass yourself any further!"

The group had migrated to the hallway outside the closet door, but they stifled their laughter when Snape emerged. Straightening his jacket, he glared at Weasley as he strolled past, glad to know he could still intimidate _someone_. The red head suddenly became interested in the colorful concert program that was rolled up in his hands.

Behind him, McGonagall asked, "Ron, where is your wife tonight?"

"Oh, she wasn't feeling well and a bit too pregnant to go anywhere. She insisted I come, though."

Snape had not intended to overhear the conversation, but he would have remarked _yes, you dunderhead. Miss Granger would be selfless and gracious enough to insist her husband not waste such a valuable ticket. What a waste of a brilliant witch! _The thought of his former overachiever pregnant with Weasley's child made him cringe.

McGonagall replied, "Well, give her my best wishes and send me an owl as soon as the baby arrives!"

The rest of the conversation was blocked out when Severus spied the statuesque figure of a striking woman emerging from the ladies room. The serpent green sparkly dress clung to her curves and he watched her saunter in strappy stilettos to the window to get out of the way of the moving crowd. The low cut of her neckline exposed the fleshy knoll of her ivory breasts and she pulled at the stringy straps to tug the fabric back up into place. She nervously tied her sheer wrap in the front to try and better cover herself, but he could still see the jiggling bundles when she moved. She was apparently looking for someone among the concert goers she was supposed to meet. When she didn't see who she was looking for, she reached under her wrap into her cleavage and pulled out a device that she used her thumbs to tap on.

Snape heard the obnoxious loud ringing of a telephone nearby and he watched as Harry pulled out a similar device as the young woman. He understood them to be expensive cellular phones that Muggles used to communicate with one another wherever they may be. He also believed them to be a waste of valuable resources, but with Mr. Potter's generous salary at the Ministry, he could easily convert Knuts into all the Muggle money he wanted.

Snape stopped breathing when he got a closer look at the young woman's face and he realized that she had been the one to call Potter on that infernal Muggle device. He moved to stand in the shadows of the stairwell, embarrassed at having gandered at his former student's curvaceous body. He could not take his mind away from the breathtaking woman Miss Granger had become. Her hair was smooth and twisted into a knot on the back of her head, held together by an Oriental stick, and her full lips were painted a dark crimson. She was the most beautiful witch he had ever laid his eyes upon, and he wished to be invisible so he wouldn't have to see the dread on her face when he would inevitably be forced to acknowledge her.

"Hello!" Harry said loudly into the phone, placing his hand over his other ear. "Oh! Great! We are standing at the west staircase. We'll wait for you here." Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he happily announced, "Hermione is here! Her last appointment cancelled and she…"

Snape stopped listening to the Boy Who Lived and glanced in Miss Granger's direction once again. He had not expected to see her and he was not prepared to face her on that particular evening. His last meeting with her had not been a pleasant one and he had spent the better part of the last five years trying to forget the memory as well as her. She had testified on his behalf at his trial and later, after his sentencing, she offered a cooling spell on the hot forged cuff that burned his ankle. His voice had echoed in the hallway outside the courtroom when he berated her and sent her away. However, truth be told, it was the hurt in her eyes that he had not been able to rid from his mind. The expression on her face had haunted him and he had added it to his collection of reasons that she had murdered him.

Shrinking more into the shadows upon her approach, he knew she had discovered him watching her from the veil he thought the small crowd of others conveniently provided. Their eyes locked for an uncomfortable three seconds. She appeared to be happy to see him at first, but her half smile disappeared, and she looked away blushing. He continued to watch her face, looking for any sign of happiness, but her eyes were sad and tired, and he thought that maybe he had something to do it. An hour before, it would have made him ecstatic to make her miserable. But now, for reasons unknown, he could not bear the thought of her looking at him, and he was relieved that she had not wasted her life by marrying a pathetic wizard such as Ronald Weasley. _Thank Merlin for that_! He thought.

She was greeted by a wall of friends who embraced her and welcomed her with outstretched arms. Minerva was the first to hug her, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Potter and Weasley. Flitwick manipulated himself inside the group hug, and held onto Minerva's knees. Snape thought them ridiculous, but he appreciated them as one would the front line troops of war holding off enemy forces.

Snape straightened his jacket and smoothed his hair with his hands, noticing Ronald Weasley's fingers spread across Miss Granger's naked shoulders. He shrank further into the dark obscurity of the stairwell, confused by his possessive feelings of her, and plotted to hex off Weasley's hand as soon as his wand was returned. The brief romance his star pupil had with the Dunderheaded boy in her 6th year had made him nauseous and much more covetous of her as his brightest student. _Weasley was never a proper match for her_. _The boy was an idiot and would have not survived Hogwarts, much less the war without Miss Granger's skill, common sense, and protection._

Her friends continued to laugh and chat with her while she searched her small evening bag for what he believed to be her ticket. By the awkward way she rummaged through it, he assumed she had it filled with things she had shrunk down to easily carry. _It would be exactly like her to have it full of shrunken books just as the bushy haired Know-it-all student she once was, _he thought, almost smiling_. _

He was hopeful that he was well camouflaged in the shadows of the stairs leading up to the box seats, but his stiff white tuxedo shirt apparently betrayed his sense of dark insignificance when Miss Granger's soft voice took him off guard. "Hello, Professor Snape."

He opened his eyes to see a wide set of auburn orbs looking up at him with genuine sincerity, followed by Weasley, who had not removed his possessive hand from the bare skin of Miss Granger's back. Snape glared at the red head and forced him to retreat five steps away to his friends.

"You look dashing this evening, sir. I'm glad to see you are doing well," she said breathlessly through a crooked smile. Her determined eyes never left his.

Spellbound by her beauty, and speechless with the guilt of former transgressions, he couldn't have spoken a word even if he had not been silenced with Minerva's spell. He certainly did not want Miss Granger to know that he had been vocally castrated, so he had to think fast and speak only with his actions. He took her hand and bowed to her, bringing her knuckles to his lips. She squeezed his fingers in return and he heard the slight intake of breath into her lungs when he touched her. He felt a surge of warm magic course through his own fibers, and he tried hard to mask the feeling with self denial, believing himself unworthy of such a witch. He swallowed hard before rising to see her face, and closed his eyes when he accidentally caught a glimpse of the tops of her pale breasts escaping the fabric of her dress. Certain his face was flushing red, he escaped being discovered by offering his arm to her, and he turned to lead them up the staircase. He fixed a closed mouth grin on his face and hoped to avoid any further chance of the need to converse.

The stairwell was too narrow to ascend side by side, so he motioned for her to go ahead of him. He followed behind her, noticing the feminine muscles of her back and the slight of her soft shoulder blades. She adjusted the see-through wrap around her shoulders when she felt the cool air conditioning of the theatre, but he could still see her skin. When she raised her arms to pull the wrap around her, he noticed the hourglass curves of her small waist, and the roundness of her backside. He was relieved the others were behind them so he could try and cope with the foreign titillating way that looking at her made him feel.

On the landing, he turned to make sure the others were close behind, and he gave his ticket to the impeccably dressed young man waiting to usher him to his seat. Miss Granger had disappeared, apparently already in her place. His heart sank a bit, but he kept the image of her walking toward him in the sparkling green dress close to the front of his mind. The young man led him to a black velvet curtain that led to private box seating, and he held it open for Snape to enter. He walked through to the murmur of the waiting audience below him, and he froze with a type of panic he had never before experienced when he saw that one of the two over-stuffed chairs was occupied by Miss Granger.

She had seated herself on the inside chair closest to the wall, leaving the one on the outside for whomever held the ticket. He looked down to find her smiling up at him, seemingly relieved to see him standing there. He was certain his knees would give way and he would fall onto the unsuspecting Muggles below. Luckily, he only needed to step to the side and lower himself onto the chair. _Merlin! What is wrong with me?_ He shouted inside his head, frustrated that his motor skills had left his limbs feeling like rubber.

The house lights dimmed and the orchestra began playing the overture. Miss Granger shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, again fidgeting with her flimsy wrap to warm her shoulders. Her program fell from her lap to the floor, and he leaned over to pick it up. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the slit in her dress. He followed it from her ankles to the top of her thigh, riding high enough to expose the garters attached to her black silk stockings. He blinked away and handed the paper to her, taking one more glance before focusing his eyes on the orchestra.

"Thank you, Professor." She whispered through a yawn, unaware that her undergarments were showing.

He nodded and tried to focus all of his attention on the music filling the concert hall, but he was much too aware of her thigh, and he struggled with a way to tell her. _Best to just ignore it,_ he finally decided. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his seat, and replayed her greeting from moments earlier to the majestic and haunting melodies of the orchestra like background music to his building fantasy. Several songs later, he was startled awake as the massive Pipe Organ vibrated the building when it played the Phantom's theme song. He jumped and opened his eyes to make sure no one had seen him rudely doze off during such an important performance. He was relieved and satisfied he had not been discovered until he looked into the box directly across from him on the other side of the auditorium. Minerva McGonagall was watching them through her opera glasses, and when she saw his eyes land on her, she smiled and waved.

He held up the middle finger of his right hand, uncaring of who witnessed his gesture, and noticed that his left arm was asleep. His breathing hitched when Miss Granger sleepily shifted under his arm and entwined her fingers with his to make sure he didn't let go. The room was refrigerated for the important attendees, and at some point, she had pulled his arm around her for warmth, and had fallen asleep in the process. He tried to move his arm slightly just long enough to feel the blood rushing through it, but she woke and let go of his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Professor!" She gasped as she sat up and pulled her dress over her garter. "This is not like me! I've had trouble sleeping since…the war." She looked at the floor to keep from seeing his face.

He could certainly understand the malady of nightmares and emotional trauma caused by such events. She rubbed her eyes and nervously tucked a straying lock of hair behind her ear.

"I should go," She whispered sadly. "This is a lovely concert, but I cannot seem to stay awake."

He should have never touched her, he thought. She's had her fill of her old, disgusting Potions Professor. _Time to flee, little bird_.

She stood and smoothed her dress before turning to exit. He moved his legs to allow her room enough to get by and she hesitated when going past.

"Professor, I'm much too sleepy for a concert and I haven't eaten all day. Could you please walk me to my flat?" She gave him an apologetic look. "I don't live very far away and you could be back in time for the second half. I'm sure Professor McGonagall wouldn't mind."

_Ah, yes. Minerva_, he thought.

Snape never took the time to consider her offer before he took her hand and plucked her from the small nook they had shared. She began to giggle, and he stopped before exiting the curtain to salute goodbye to Minerva McGonagall. Her mouth opened in surprise and she dropped her opera glasses with a gasp when he escaped through the curtain with Miss Granger in tow.

Once in the hallway, Snape held Miss Granger's hand with his left, and put his right finger to his lips for her to be quiet. She covered her mouth with her free hand and laughed with her eyes. He quirked an eyebrow and turned to look up and down the hallway to make sure no one else was around. He heard voices coming from around the corner, and he tugged her further down the hallway into the open lift. The doors closed just before the laughing group of people passed by and he pushed the button for the ground floor. When the doors opened again, they were in the middle of the lower parking lot.

Miss Granger took the lead, pulling him to the right. "This way!"

Her stilettos clapped against the concrete as they ran, echoing in the concrete cave of parked cars, but her laughter was liberating, and he found himself smiling when he felt freedom for the first time in twenty five years. Strands of her hair escaped the twist holding it up, and her sheer wrap flowed behind her as she pulled him to the empty side street just outside the garage.

On the outside of the building, she stopped and put her hand on the wall for support as she caught her breath. Leaning over, she removed one shoe at a time, still laughing hysterically.

"Professor!" She panted between fits of laughter. "Why are we running?"

He gave her a quizzical look. She was present the day of the sentencing when they forged the hot metal band around his ankle. In fact, he had berated her for placing a cooling spell on the chain. He had only wanted to die instead of live his life as a prisoner, and she had approached him at probably the lowest, most humiliating moment of his existence. She had only been trying to help. Perhaps she had forgotten that he was supposed to be shackled.

"I assumed Professor McGonagall lifted the spell on your ankle so you could leave the castle." Sliding her right hand inside the top of her dress, she felt around her left breast for something.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open, but he promptly closed it, diverting his line of vision to the blinking stop light overhead.

Her hand emerged with her cell phone and she began punching buttons. "I'll text Harry and tell him where you are. He can pass along the message to Professor McGonagall during intermission."

He was glad when she tossed the device into her evening bag instead of her cleavage. He made a mental note to speak to her about that habit, and gave her a tight lipped reprimanding expression.

She assumed he was thinking of McGonagall. "I don't want to get you into any trouble. I _know_ how McGonagall is. She controlled my life for seven years. I can only imagine what yours must be like having to live under her rule night and day!"

_How can a child be so wise? _He thought silently. He looked at her face and saw a woman with burning auburn eyes looking back at him with compassion and adoration. _When did she become so beautiful? _She squeezed his arm with more firmness and he could only look at it, afraid to move for fear that she would soon let go.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is JKR's world. I'm simply manipulating her characters.

Snape is a bit OOC. So what? He's having fun and I think he deserves a little bit of happiness.

Once again, this has not been to a beta, so each and every mistake is of my own doing.

Please review…be gentle…I'm fragile…sniff sniff.

Chapter 4

Sea of Muggles

Realizing she had once again touched her former professor with unexpected familiarity, Hermione Granger quickly removed her hand from his arm, perplexed with his lack of retaliation. His passive demeanor made her uneasy and his lack of speech was unnerving. His groomed, formal appearance allured her, and she had an overwhelming need to hear his voice, perhaps as confirmation that the man standing before her was indeed her beloved Potions Master.

The last time she had seen him was at his trial when he been emaciated and bedraggled from mistreatment by the prison and he had not been allowed to speak. However, he had disparaged her afterward when she tried to cool the scorching anklet the Ministry had so brutally forged onto his body. The echo from that verbal lashing still rang in her head, conjuring feelings inside her that no other wizard had ever provoked. At the present time, his reticence spoke solely to her as an understated aphrodisiac and she found him disturbingly alluring.

Taking a small step closer to him, she stood face to face with the man who had terrified and berated her for as long as she could remember. However, she had always sensed there was more to him than secrets and anger. Looking deep into his midnight eyes for the first time since she had known him, she realized her suspicions had been correct in that a human being resided inside the shell of the mysterious wizard. His veil of raven hair was ensnared behind his head, removing his façade of dark mystery, and her round, tawny eyes violated his countenance in search of the detestable misanthrope that had been Severus Snape. She could plainly see that the man standing before her was not an imposter, but was instead all that remained of the greatest wizard she had ever known.

Immobilized with no place to hide, he was rendered powerless under the bright lights of her auburn scrutiny, and he likened himself to a mesmerized doe, unsuspecting of impending slaughter by a relentless hunter. Tired of the demons hiding in the shadows of his mind, he almost wanted her to discover him, but he was too volatile to surrender completely. However, he had been seized by her intuition, and he could only submit to her silent inquisition. Her gaze violated every microbe of his being, and he saw in her eyes that she had discovered the secrets of his true pain.

Her brow furrowed as helpless tears of empathy drizzled from the corners of her eyes and she resisted the sudden impulse to caress his cheek. Bracing her mind for the certain reprimand that would follow if her suspicions should be wrong, she tightened her jaw, lifted her head with confidence, and whispered, "Professor McGonagall placed a silencing spell on you, didn't she?"

His breathing hitched in his throat. He had seen this look on her face before. _In the Shrieking Shack_, he thought, _and in the hospital_. Although he had been in a haze caused by Nagini's venom, he remembered hating her for forcing life back into his unwilling body, but now he could no longer recall all the reasons as to why. He was humiliated at having been discovered by his former student, but perplexed by the past and present tears she shed for him. He thought it odd that he had suddenly begun to appreciate her quick intellect and brave humanity. Her radiating compassion for him was overwhelming, and he was further surprised that he painlessly trusted her with his vulnerability. However, he would have preferred another meeting with the Dark Lord rather than grant her the answer he knew she deserved. Unable to look at her, he closed his eyes, and slowly nodded once to affirm her question.

"It never ends for you, does it?" She asked breathily. Her demeanor went from caring to anger. "That controlling, heartless bitch!" She yelped. Withdrawing her wand from her cleavage, she pointed it at his head in preparation to counter the old witch's spell.

Having never before heard her use profanity, his eyes danced with amusement while he suppressed the urge to laugh. _My sentiments, exactly!_ He mused silently. Mustering the best form of a teacher's stern face as he could, he gently pushed her wand hand down to her side, and declined her offer.

"I can _remove_ the _spell_, Professor!" She huffed, slightly offended that he still doubted her skills.

Lifting the corners of his mouth into a small, reassuring smile, he shook his head 'no' once again. He knew she was more than capable of countering Minerva's spell, and he wanted to have his speech returned more than he needed to breathe, but he was certain that he would foolishly say something to berate and humiliate the young witch, and she would shut him off forever. For the time being, he simply wanted to enjoy her company without the added pressure of having to watch his verbal conduct and baleful way of being. He felt he owed her the debt of remaining silent so she would have the opportunity to say her peace, whatever that may entail.

Exhaling audibly with exasperation, she replaced the wand between her breasts, and conformed to his wishes, still eyeing him with suspicious questioning. An uncomfortable silence fell between them for what seemed like an eternity, but was only a few seconds in length.

Accepting his decision to remain silenced, she smiled amiably with unconditional understanding, and she began to laugh. Over-acting seriousness, she crossed her arms, and pretended to be deep in thought. "So…I get to talk and you have to listen. Hmmm." Doing her best, yet failing impression of Severus Snape, she lowered her voice, and uttered, "This may prove to be… _interesting_."

Quirking an eyebrow, he lifted one side of his mouth into a half-smile, and shrugged his shoulders in playful defeat. He secretly hoped she would not abuse the situation, but decided he would not torment her should she decide to do so.

She had so many questions she wanted to ask, but he couldn't answer them, anyway, and she didn't wish to risk spoiling their pleasant rapport. She motioned to a point in the distance. "My flat is just a few streets over in that direction. Shall we go?"

He offered his arm to her and she slipped her hand around his forearm, taking note of the light weight fabric of the stylish jacket covering the solid muscles underneath. An unexpected tremor of sensual electricity surged from the skin of her palm to the rest of her body, and she readjusted the handbag on her other wrist to distract from the warming blush she knew was covering her face.

An unexpected chill paralyzed his spine when she touched him and he was certain he would not be able to move his legs until the feeling subsided. Not even Lily Evans had brought about such feelings within him and he felt somewhat guilty that a former student had succeeded in doing so. Swallowing hard, he made the first step forward, delighted that he had not fallen on his arse, and he tightened his mouth for added concentration, hoping she had not sensed his dunderheaded awkwardness. He did not particularly care for his lack of motor skills, but he did enjoy the accompanying feeling of youthfulness it brought about.

He quietly walked beside her along the perpetual sidewalk, finding her familiar presence alarmingly delightful, and he judged her to be the most exquisitely beautiful witch he had ever before encountered. He became preoccupied with trying to not stare at her or look at her too much and he could not pay attention to her in-depth historical narrative of the area in which she lived. He thought to untie his hair so that he could peek at her through it without being obvious, but that would entail letting go of her, and it was a ridiculous notion in the first place. Instead, he took advantage of his silent malady, and looked at her frequently so she would know that he was listening to every word she said as though it was the most important thing he had ever in his life heard. The subject was mildly interesting at best, and he found it amusing that she would dedicate her brilliant mind to learning such needless trivia. He had always known her to obsess over subjects that she alone found interesting; a habit he secretly enjoyed.

The tempo of her endless chatter relaxed him to the point that his self awareness gave in to woolgathering about the guilt he felt about having been such a tormentor to the know-it-all she had once been. He had been horrible to her in the past, and she would have had ample reasons to hate him, but she did not. In fact, he was certain that she was the only person in the magical world who had not ridiculed him in one way or another. She simply seemed to appreciate him regardless of his litany of past misdeeds and he enjoyed the peaceful freedom that overtook him while being in her presence. She was not at all the omnipotent tyrant he had expunged all of his energy trying to hate for the past five years. At that moment, he knew he had made the right decision to remain silenced because he would have suddenly thrown himself at her feet, and begged her forgiveness.

Turning the corner, the fresh breeze they had been enjoying on the empty path became obstructed by tall buildings lining the street. Flashing signs overhead from every angle seemed to radiate the heat of a furnace, propelling a sluggish river of tourists along the sidewalks, flowing at the pace of cooling lava. Her voice was silenced by the obnoxious noise of taxi cabs honking their horns impatiently while trying to manipulate their way through the overly populated street. Street vendors were scattered about, cooking unidentifiable flesh over open flames for swarms of apparently ravished Muggles. Trapped in the humid air was the stench of exhaust and scorched meat and he was certain he would be sick.

Confident he could go no further, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, and used it to cover his mouth and nose. Miss Granger stopped walking and took him by surprise when she ducked behind a dumpster to remove her pantyhose, one lean leg at a time. She had only to roll them down from mid thigh, but his eyes grew large when he saw her casually disrobing, and had he been able to talk, she would have heard the gasp of shock that escaped his throat. Looking over his shoulders, he checked to make sure no one else had witnessed her brazen act.

Tossing the hose into the bin, she replaced her shoes onto her feet, and laughed, "I do apologize, Professor! I absolutely _abhor_ nylons in the summer months!"

The shock of her actions was outdone by the thrill of having been the one to witness her secret operation. Folding his handkerchief into a small square, he nervously dabbed the building perspiration from his forehead, and took in a deep, calming breath. The guilt of greedily watching his half clad former student only added to his already heavy conscience, and the dread of maneuvering through the putrid sea of Muggles caused his knees to buckle.

Grasping the crook of his arm, she noticed that he looked more pallid than usual. "Are you alright, Professor?" She asked.

As soon as he felt her touch, he nodded, and recovered his senses enough to appear normal. Shoving the handkerchief deep into his pocket, he covered her hand with his to ensure they would not separate and lose one another in the crowd.

She was grateful for the street noise because it drowned out the sigh that escaped her lips when his long fingers enclosed her hand, and she tightened her grip on his arm. She had no idea how he would react if he ever learned of her true feelings for him, but she didn't care. He was the consummate wizard who had saved her world and she was uncertain that she could continue to feign indifference. However, for the time being, she was simply happy to be with him.

Blocking their path just ahead of them was a horde of onlookers watching a profusely perspiring street performer who was skillfully twirling batons of fire. The daring man swallowed the burning ends and the audience mindlessly applauded. Snape could only see the quest of making their way through the impossible, gathering assembly with as much apprehension as he had felt when walking into the Shrieking Shack. His heart began to race, and he patted his pocket to feel for his wand, which was not there, and he fought the impulse to retreat to the concert hall.

Breathing in a frustrated gust of air through his nose, he tried to control his frustration. _Coward_, he thought. _Ridiculous old fool. You do not need a wand, old man. You have_ _faced darker ambiguity than the threat of hapless, partying Muggles_. _You have traipsed through the stench of bloody death and rotting corpses and you can certainly complete the mission of seeing Miss Granger to her flat._ Self-loathing almost took him over, but he took in a deep, relaxing breath through his nose, and a sudden realization bathed him in a cool calmness that made him smile. It came to him that he was…_necessary_.

Guiding them into the obscure scene, he held on to her tighter and he thought she lead the way through the Muggles with all the confidence and stealth of a true lioness. He was safe with her. No one seemed to notice them slipping through the crowds and his mind began to wander. She had proven to him that she had adapted to her new life away from Hogwarts with little or no difficulty. He began to think of what he would do when his sentence was lifted. Before he saw her at the concert, he was prepared to find a secluded place and live out his life in peace and solitude, but now he was no longer certain. No matter how he tried, he could not ignore his desire to pursue a type of camaraderie or affiliation with Miss Granger. A hot flush of blood swept through him and his heart pounded double-time at the thought. _What would she want with an old, bitter wizard?_

She glanced at him thoughtfully to see that he was alright and said in a casual manner, "There are less people here tonight than usual."

_Less?_ He thought.

Halfway down the strip, a quintet of refined street musicians began to play a fascinating variation of classical music with a pop-style beat, and Miss Granger stopped to listen. She enjoyed the free flowing, lazy tempo, and she let go of his arm to dance as if she was the only person around. He was astounded by her inhibition and he could only watch in awe as she blissfully moved her body in time to the music. A man wearing a tall, black top hat on his head took her hand and began to dance with her. Judging by the man's attire, he was obviously a member of the performing group, but a twinge of jealousy and possessiveness settled in the pit of Severus Snape's stomach as he watched the dancing couple.

"Ridiculous!" He quietly grumbled, frustrated that his voice was not audible.

Miss Granger's laughter sounded muffled and he realized the crowd was growing around him as well as in front of him and he lost sight of Miss Granger. As if bewitched, he stepped bravely forward, and jostled his way to the front of the crowd, only to be pulled into the open circle by Miss Granger's hand.

"Dance with me!" She begged playfully. "It isn't as if you can say no, Professor!"

Knowing she was purposely taking full advantage of his reticence, he tightened his lips, and fixed his mind as though he was going into battle. With the stone-faced determination of entering a dangerous Death Eater's lair, he shut out all of the curious eyes watching him. Untying his impeccably tied formal bowtie, he mouthed to her as he yanked it from around his neck with force, "_Insufferable!" _

Carefully stuffing his bowtie in his pocket, he removed his jacket, and unbuttoned the top two black buttons of his shirt. He carefully handed the expensive black garment to the cello player, who hung it on the back of his music stand with a wide grin. Without asking, Snape took the grinning man's pen from his pocket, and scribbled something across the top of the music clipped to his music stand.

Miss Granger had no idea that Minerva had forced him to take part in ridiculous ballroom dancing instruction as part of his rehabilitation and he had become quite capable in the art of the Tango. He assumed Miss Granger would make a much more suitable partner than the revolting ghost who had been his instructor.

Eying her as if he had caught her sneaking out of the castle after hours, he took her around the waist with one hand, and threaded his fingers through hers with his other. Her eyes were bonded to his, unsure of what he was about to undertake, but she was willing to do anything as long as he continued to touch her. She began to laugh at the thought of him dancing since the most outgoing thing she had ever witnessed him do was to almost get excited at a Quiddich match when Slytherin scored the winning point.

Taking his starting position with towering confidence, he pulled her against him, and she gasped when her body collided with his. She became intoxicated by the fading scent of aftershave on his smooth shaven jaw, and she was mesmerized by the dark, masculine hairs that escaped the opening of his collar. Melting into him, she exhaled a long, contented breath that she though she may have been holding since her forth year at Hogwarts.

The music started and he spun her away from him and reeled her back with such force she crashed against him, but he maintained his hold on her and he never faltered. She empowered him with control of her person and she gave over to his every whisking whim while he took her about the makeshift sidewalk dance floor. His dark gaze never left hers and she reveled in being at his mercy. He led her backward with such long, slow strides that she was thankful for the long slit in the side of her dress because it allowed her more dexterity to adhere to the physical demands he required. He moved her fluidly to every pulsing beat of the music, his body meshed against hers, and she had never before experienced such poetic sensuality. Pausing at fermatas, he worshipped her, and he caressed her arms on the decrescendos with a featherlike touch so light that she could hardly feel it, but the fine hairs covering her skin stood on end, awakening newly discovered lascivious desires for only him.

Just in time for the last trill of the finale, he splayed his long fingers across the small of her lower spine as he leaned her backward, and grasped her exposed outstretched outer thigh to better support her. Her arms were around his neck and he leaned his face close to hers, as was customary for the dance. He could feel her breath coming in fast puffs on his face from their exertion, and he did not pull her directly up, but lingered in the delight of the burning amber eyes looking back at him. His heart pounded and the only thing stopping him from seizing her lips in a fierce kiss was the inconvenient horde of onlookers who were voraciously applauding them.

Awkwardly setting her upright, he realized he was trembling not from being watched by strangers, but by the salacious stirrings throughout his fibers for the young witch presently in his arms. Swallowing hard, he struggled with the guilt of having lusted after his former student while he grabbed his jacket from the music stand. Quickly slipping it over his arms, he jerked it onto his shoulders, and secretly berated himself for the unacceptable thoughts he was having about Miss Granger.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew several Muggle coins that he had remembered to take with him for his outing, and dropped them onto the blue velvet lining of a violin case that lay haphazardly open on the pavement. Grasping Miss Granger's hand, he courageously extracted her from the cheering crowd, through the endless, suffocating sea of cumbersome Muggles, and onto a quiet side street where they stopped to catch their breath.

Leaning against the ancient brick wall of a newly renovated bank, she began to laugh openly. In between gasps for oxygen, she panted, "You were fantastic, Professor! That was fun, wasn't it?"

He had leaned over to place his hands on his knees with the hopes of quickly recovering his wind. _Fun?_ He thought. Without another thought, he was laughing and helplessly leaning against the wall beside her. Freedom felt good and she had unknowingly helped to restore his lost confidence and purpose. However, the smile faded from his face when, for the first time, he thought of having to return to the miserable life he had always lived. He realized he no longer wished for the solitude and sanctuary of the castle, but instead craved the indubitable company of the laughing young witch who had rescued him from the hell that had been his life. Instead of murdering him by keeping him alive, she had saved him from the prison of his anger, and she made the war seem so far away that he actually believed there could be a time when it would no longer haunt his memories.

Fighting the urge to sweep her into his arms, he stood upright, and took his eyes away from her, nervously adjusting his robes. The familiar, ridiculing voice in his head ranted, _Ridiculous notion! See her home and leave her to her life! Perhaps she will find a more deserving, younger wizard to her liking who will make her miserably happy! _ Turning his face to look down the empty street, he closed his eyes, and inhaled a deeply needed calming breath of fresh air.

Miss Granger slipped her hand around Professor Snape's arm, drawing him away from his self-loathing indulgence. He looked down at her face to find a gleaming smile she had formed just for him and he completely forgot his thoughts. Lost in her gaze, he was speechless until her stomach grumbled so loudly he felt it vibrate all the way down her arm to her fingers.

Laughing at the sound, she asked through a wide grin, "Did you _hear_ that? I think I need food." She immediately tugged him inside a diminutive pizza parlor close by from where they stood and headed for the counter to order.

Taking in the dimly lit establishment, he was certain the floor had not been cleaned in quite some time, and the walls were thick with darkened layers of grease that had apparently collected every vile particle floating in the air for as long as the place had been in operation. A disheveled waitress walked by carrying a large order to a table of teenagers in the corner. He happened to catch a glimpse of the deep dish crust and he noticed that it floated in a pool of grease that oozed from the sides and collected on the plate.

Feeling bile collecting in the back of his throat, he clenched Miss Granger's hand, and yanked her from the restaurant while she was in the middle of ordering. He could not imagine dining in such an execrable place and he would not allow his companion to risk her life on any rations served there. _Muggles are such revolting creatures,_ he thought_. It is a wonder they survive at all. How does the brightest witch of her age manage to live among them?_

Outside the restaurant, she laughed openly, and was hardly able to keep up with his long, swift stride as he pulled her across the street to a small grocer he had spotted when they had first entered the street. The more she laughed, the harder it became for her to jog along behind him, especially in the uncomfortable stilettos on her feet. By the time they reached the front of the market, she was completely out of breath from the exertion, and she could not go any further until she stopped to recover her wind.

"Wait, Professor!" She panted between giggles. Motioning in the direction of the pizza parlor, she asked playfully, "Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to eat at Drippy Dan's?"

He glanced at the small flashing sign over the door of the restaurant and saw that the name of the establishment was 'Dan's Pizza Palace'. Rolling his eyes, he grimaced, and gave her a mischievous, scolding look.

She immediately became limp with laughter. So many times during her years at Hogwarts, he had caused her to shrink under his malevolent glares, but the one he had just given her sent her into hysterics, and he was secretly thrilled to have been the one to cause such a reaction.

He envied the way she openly enjoyed herself, and he was awestruck by the way she tilted back her head when she laughed, showcasing a gleaming toothy smile that was surrounded by rosy, perfect lips. He noticed that her cheeks were glowing pink and beads of moisture had developed over her upper lip and across her forehead. The sultry night air had caused the few loose strands of her hair to return to their natural curly state, framing her face like a portrait. She carried the sheer wrap in her hand, and the streetlights illuminated the sparkles on her dress like tiny green explosions. Her chest rose and fell, drawing his attention to her barely clad feminine bundles, and he caught himself gaping at her like a ridiculous, infatuated First Year. Had he caught a student gandering at another the way he was taking on, he would have undoubtedly deducted a significant number of house points. _Pull yourself together, you ridiculous old wizard! She is a student! No! No! No!_

Next to the glass door entrance was a stack of dingy yellow shopping baskets with blue handles. He plucked one from the top and shoved it into her hand. Spinning around, he entered the market through the automatic doors, and stalked to the vegetable aisle with all the confidence of a feared teacher. She gleefully followed, feeling spotlighted by the bright overhead fluorescent lights, and she smiled as she hobbled by the inquisitive stares of a curious, elderly couple.

The old man smiled at her, and his wife looked upon Miss Granger with thoughtful melancholy. She remarked aloud to her husband, "Isn't that sweet, Ed? I can remember when _my_ father used to take _me_ to the theater."

The young witch flushed with annoyance and she balled her fists to keep from throwing the Leek Jinx at both of them.

Snape heard the comment and could not resist the opportunity to shock the Muggle couple. He returned to stand a few feet from the scene and held up a different colored box of well marked prophylactics in each hand. He called her attention to the bright red box with the words 'RIBBED FOR HER PLEASURE' in his right and then he showed her the blue one that said 'EDIBLE' that was in his other hand. Ignoring the old couple, he awaited Miss Granger's response with a devilish grin.

She giggled in the manner of an overly zealous teenager and jogged in his direction. The hard, shiny linoleum floor amplified every clacking step of her stiletto shoes. Grabbing his arm, she squeezed it and answered voraciously, "Oh, Daddy! You _know_ I like the _ribbed_ ones!"

The old woman gasped out loud and clenched onto her husband's wrist while her mouth gaped open in reaction to the scandal. Snape and his witch ducked behind a wall of cereal and he knocked several boxes of Corn Flakes from the top shelf when he grabbed the metal edge to keep from slipping on the newly mopped floor. Miss Granger's footing was compromised when she slid and tripped over the 'Wet Floor'sign, but he caught her around the waist, and pulled her upright just before she fell. She grabbed his shoulder with her right hand, and propped her left arm on the middle shelf, upsetting several boxes of Fruit Loops with her elbow, sending them tumbling to the floor. Once they had their balance, they held their positions while they took in the mess of boxes on the floor around them. In unison, they became helplessly weak with the intoxicating bliss of convulsing chortles that segued into a duet of belly laughs, but only hers could be heard.

Although she could not hear him, she watched him laughing openly, and she could feel his puffs of hot breath on her arm. Never before had she seen him have such a delightful moment, and she was ecstatic to be the one to share it with him. The evening had been like a holiday spent in the most fabulous place, even though she had never left the familiar area of her neighborhood. He made her world better, and she could not stand the thought of having to be there alone without him to share it with her.

Without thinking, she casually reached up and moved a stray lock of his hair away from his face, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a bittersweet expression. She whispered, "I wish tonight could go on forever."

His smile was frozen on his face, and he could only look into the burnished, trusting eyes of the witch who had given him the gift of euphoric escape. _How could I have ever hated this… woman? _ His face tingled where the slight touch of her fingertips had ever so lightly grazed his face, and he moved his hand to touch her cheek, but he was stopped by the protesting grumbling of his empty stomach. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

Miss Granger laughed and began to replace the fallen boxes of cereal. Holding up a colorful box of Fruit Loops, she playfully commented, "This looks really good right about now."

He studied the bright colored Tucan on the front of the box, who advertised sugar laden tidbits of small circles, and he furrowed his brow with disgust. _How revolting_, he thought. Letting go of the top ledge of the shelf, he removed the box from her hand, and replaced it on the shelf with the others. Picking up the upside down basket from the floor that she had accidentally dropped, he took her hand, and comically tugged her along behind him to escape the small mess they had made.

The grocer was adequately laid out and he was able to quickly gather all of the necessary ingredients for a proper roast beef sandwich. While shopping, he assumed that she had no food stores whatsoever at her dwelling, so he included milk and eggs with the loot. She selected a plump, freshly made loaf of bread that resembled the handsome sweet loaves made by the Hogwarts house elves for special occasions. When she placed it in the basket, the aroma filled their noses, and a mutual twang of melancholy raced through them both, as well as a duet of loud, empty stomachs.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Ok, boys and girls, here's an update. It's kind of lengthy, but I didn't want to split it up.

I will update again in approx. two weeks or sooner if time allows.

Thank you for reading, and remember: All mistakes are my own and I love helpful reviews.

All characters belong to JKR and I am making no money at all WHATSOEVER from this tale.

Chapter 5

Absolution

Snape readjusted the overstuffed plastic bags in either hand to allow for circulation to his fingers while Miss Granger continued her trivial historical narrative of the area. Half listening to her, he reflected on the events of the evening, and struggled with his conscience. He was very much aware that he was old enough to be her father, and he knew he would have to come to terms with his attraction to her and put her out of his mind, but she had felt so good underneath his hands. _I wish this night would never end, she'd said_. Stealing another glance of her, he felt a slight pang of covetous need ascend from somewhere in his abdomen and travel through his chest all the way to his throat. Swallowing hard, he assumed the feeling was the guilt he carried of being attracted to the young witch. He didn't want the night to end, but he knew his reasons were different than hers. _Ridiculous old wizard, _he yelled in his mind_, she has been accepting because you are her former teacher, you imbecile._ He wanted to resent her for conjuring desires in his body he had suppressed long ago, but he found that he rather enjoyed the sensations, and for the first time since he was a very young man, he enjoyed being alive.

The thought of being tortured by another unrequited romance was out of the question. Miss Granger was simply too young for him and he would most certainly destroy anything beautiful with his proven history of insensitivity. He had blamed himself for ending the friendship with the only true friend he had ever held dear. The Daily Prophet's sneering face of Lily Evans came to the forefront of his mind and he realized the pain of her memory did not haunt him in the usual way. Perhaps, he thought, he had been successful in suppressing his feelings for her, as well as the pain of losing her. On the other hand, his debt to her had been paid in full, and he was liberated by the epiphany that he had actually done everything in his power to repair the damage he had caused between them. He almost stopped walking when the thought hit him that Lily had been extremely unfair in her judgment of him, despite his constant pleas of forgiveness. She had already fallen in love with Potter, and he never stood a chance against the cruel, self-centered prat.

Snape felt physically lighter after having put to rest his worst memory. Taking in a long, deep breath through his nose, he exhaled a relieved breath of air that he felt he had been holding for an eternity. Despite the sagging plastic bags of groceries he carried in each hand, he was certain that if he knew her address, he would be able to sprint to Miss Granger's flat with little or no effort. The young witch walking next to him had no idea what had just happened inside of him, and he wanted to scream it to the top of his lungs, but he maintained his quiet demeanor with a smug grin.

"Professor, please! I can hardly walk another step in these abominable shoes!" She gasped, half joking, but half serious.

Snape had not intended to walk faster than his companion. He had become so lost in his in his newfound peace that he had not noticed she was practically running to keep up with him. Falling back in step with her, he smiled at the ground as his face dealt with the flushing of his cheeks. Miss Granger hobbled along, picking up the conversation where she had left off, and he stole another glance at her face, careful to not turn his head as to reveal the glow he knew was radiating from his skin.

His sense of euphoria was heightened when he thought the name, _Albus Severus Potter_. _If Potter were alive today he would be a grandfather_. Once more grateful for Minerva's silencing spell, he would have been heard laughing out loud at the mere thought of James Potter holding the child on his lap with that particular name. Glancing at Miss Granger, she had become aware of his smiling facial expression, but she thought it was because he had found humor in something she said. He played it off as such. However, his grin disappeared when he realized that he and James Potter would be the same age, making the snarky professor old enough to be a grandfather, as well. _Damn._

Miss Granger stopped walking and became silent. She motioned to the massive building in front of them and gloomily sighed, "Well, here we are. Home sweet home."

He wasn't sure if she was bruised because she knew he had not been listening, or if she was not pleased with her home. Perhaps she had grown weary of him. He simply could not interpret her facial expression, and he could not physically ask, so he assumed it was a conglomeration of all three.

His line of vision started at the formal entrance of her heavy front door and continued upward to see three darkened floors of renovated architecture that probably dated to the 1700's. Looking around, he realized that she lived in the most upscale, antiseptic part of the area, but her building looked more like a forgotten mausoleum. Hers was the only house without a small, neatly groomed landscape on the grassy patches. Instead, she had a large urn on the step next to her front door that contained a dead plant he could not identify. He thought it out of her character to not maintain living things under her care and he began to worry that she had lost some of the zest for life she once had as a student. Her success as an author had brought her vast wealth, but he was saddened that she was no longer being challenged intellectually. For a moment, he wished he had been listening.

He watched her lackadaisically climb the five steps to the elegant front door of her building and fumble through all the shrunken items in her handbag for her keys. He thought she looked out of place against the monastic backdrop of the commodious, archaic vault and he blamed himself for the direction her life had taken. Although she had become an efficacious writer, she was not fulfilled. He believed his influence could have led her to a more gratifying occupation, but he had instead selfishly chosen to castigate her for his own idiotic misery.

Her sheer wrap drooped over her wrist while she continued digging around in her purse. "I purchased the entire building so I wouldn't be bothered by noisy, nosey neighbors. I needed to be able to work in peace. Everyone in this area keeps to themselves. I hardly ever see anyone." She clicked open the door, and stepped inside, where she immediately kicked off her shoes, and punted them forcefully into the corner.

He was somewhat perturbed that she had not used her wand to spell open the door and was quite unsettled that she had not placed a single protective ward on the place.

She looked at him with a slightly scolding expression and crossed her arms defensively. "I recognize that look on your face, Professor. I've seen it since my first year at Hogwarts. Honestly! There are more policemen in this area than in all of London. I'm perfectly safe here!"

He looked the cobblestone street up and down and did not see a single inhabitant, much less any members of the local law enforcement, and he scowled at her. Standing at the bottom of the steps, he tried to comprehend the information she had just conveyed to him. He believed it irresponsible of her to live in alone a house twice the size of Grummauld Place in an area so densely populated with strange Muggles without protective wards. She seemed so small compared to the space surrounding her and he was overcome with concern that she was living with a subconscious death wish.

However, he had surmised that since she had to search the bottom of her bag for her scarcely used keys, she had perhaps not used her wand on his behalf. After all, she was present the day the Ministry confiscated his wand and restricted his magic to the castle grounds, but he would certainly speak to her about her reckless lifestyle once his speech was returned. For the time being, he decided to play along and make no more protest. The evening had been too perfect and he would do nothing to ruin it. His scowl turned into a lifted eyebrow that insinuated he was leery of her decisions.

She stood on the landing and lifted her hands with exasperation when she saw him standing on the sidewalk, still eyeing her with suspicion. Rolling her eyes, she asserted, "I assure you, Professor, that I normally employ the use of very substantial wards. However, there are no dangerous Death Eaters lurking about now that Vol…" She stopped before she could say his name and huffed, "Just come inside, Professor. Let's eat."

Once inside, she flipped on the lights and led him through a large cavernous room with vaulted ceilings and freshly polished hardwood floors. It was scarcely furnished and minimally decorated, leaving a small acreage of floor space. He had never known her to be materialistic and her almost vacant living quarters proved that she only cared about having the basic necessities. Her priorities were clear in that she had a small library of bookcases stuffed with books of every genre, magical as well as Muggle. The only mentionable seating in the room was a comfortable chaise lounge she had placed in front of a large French window, and judging from the stack of books and empty food containers littering the floor around it, he was led to believe she spent most of her time sitting in that single spot just reading.

"I practically live in this room," She said in a matter-of-fact way as she quickly gathered up several empty pizza boxes from Dan's Pizza Palace. She looked at him apologetically with her arms full of rubbish. "I'm sorry about the mess, Professor. I do not have a lot of visitors and I certainly didn't expect to have you here." She blushed as she disappeared into the next room. He could hardly hear her, but the live acoustics allowed her voice to easily flow through. "I never use the upper levels anymore. I bought this place about a year after the war. There was talk at St. Mungo's about several patients who still needed rehabilitation, but the staff went on strike because of work overload and low wages. The remaining patients were well, for the most part, but they had nowhere to go because their homes had been destroyed during the Final Battle." She came back into the room and scanned the area to be sure she had cleaned up the mess. "I volunteered to take them in since I had the space. And of course, I had been given the credentials of Medi-Witch to tend to you while you were…" She did not complete her sentence, but looked away, saddened. She retrieved the stack of books from the floor next to the chaise lounge and quickly replaced them in the bookcase. "At one time I had fifteen witches and wizards staying here, but they eventually moved out."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Crookshanks emerge from sleeping behind the computer on the roll top desk Miss Granger had strategically placed in the far corner of the room. The hefty orange tabby stretched out his paws in front of him and yawned lazily, knocking a stack of parchments to the floor. He meowed brokenly in Miss Granger's direction, and he carelessly stepped on the keyboard with both fluffy front paws, waiting for her to greet him. As soon as the first key was pressed, the bright screen next to him to come to life, and revealed an image Snape recognized as himself and Miss Granger. In the frame, she was standing next to him at the Yule Ball, smiling at the camera while he stood miserably aloof.

She turned around as soon as she heard the cat rustling in the corner, and she panicked when she saw the computer had been left on. Sprinting across the room, she grabbed the cat and slammed shut the roll top cover, hoping he had not had time to see the picture.

He didn't remember the photograph being taken and he never knew it even existed. At that moment, he was most grateful to Minerva for hitting him with a silencing spell because he would have remonstrated loudly and insisted she destroy the offending image immediately. He did not like to be photographed; much less have his image stolen by…_Why would she have a photograph of me? Why in Merlin's name would she want one in the first place? _

She gave Crookshanks a few strokes before setting him on the floor and she motioned for Snape to follow her into the kitchen, silently chastising herself for leaving her computer running.

The circulation to the tips of his fingers was being withheld by the heavy, stretching plastic handles he had been carrying and he was ready to rid his hands of them. The walk to her kitchen seemed endless and he followed her into a brick scullery that was almost as large as his potions laboratory. The appliances were modern and new, but mostly unused, and he found the layout to be quite satisfactory and convenient for working. There was plenty of empty counter space and he approved of the island that was strategically placed in the middle of it. Tucked underneath, opposite the sink area were two sturdy barstools she had obviously acquired from the Leaky Cauldron.

She watched the older wizard place the bags on the island countertop, analyzing his expression for any clue as to whether or not he had seen the picture on her computer. She hoped she had hidden it before he had caught a glimpse, but the grim expression on his face confirmed that he had indeed seen it, and he was not at all pleased. Although her explanation of having the photograph in her possession was a simple one, she struggled with the right words to say so she would not stupidly reveal her true feelings for him. Still, his scowl had always intimidated her in the past, but it now made her shiver with an emotion she recognized as a need that only he could fulfill.

Stalking to the cooler, he opened the door, and frowned at what he saw. The only items inside the barren space were a half eaten container of fuzzy yogurt and a decaying piece of moldy cheese. Placing the milk and eggs on the middle shelf, he removed the other offending substances, and grimaced.

He approached her with the repelling remnants from her cooler as to reprimand her for having no proper nourishment in her stores to eat. Holding them over the rubbish bin, he dropped them on top of the pizza boxes she had carefully stuffed inside. She was oblivious to his concern about her poor nutrition and she assumed his annoyance had been the result of the picture on her computer screen.

She proceeded to unload the tomatoes from the first bag, but she stopped working, and exhaled audibly. "Colin Creevey," she rasped.

Towering over her, he folded his arms and waited for her to explain further what she meant about the deceased young photographer.

"I'm sorry about having the picture, Professor. Colin's parents asked me to collect his things after he…_died._" She looked away, fighting back tears from the memory. "In fact, a lot of _other_ parents asked I do the same for their dead children." She closed her eyes to the horrific memories. Tears leaked helplessly from the inside corners of her eyes and her voice broke when she spoke. "I found that roll of film among his things and I selfishly kept it. I returned his camera and his other belongings, but I developed those photographs out of curiosity. There were mostly images of that _horrific_ band at the Yule Ball, but I kept _that_ one." She continued unloading the last of her bag and noisily smashed it into a ball. As if trying to bury the memories, she stuffed it forcefully into an opening between the pizza boxes, and roughly wiped the tears from her face with both hands before turning back around to rinse the vegetables in the sink.

He thought it cruel for those parents to have selfishly asked a child to tend to such business and it angered him that she had been charged to perform the duties of an adult undertaker. However, it stood to reason that she be placed with the task. She had been the most mature student of her age, as well as the constant voice of reason among her peers. _Such a brave young witch, he thought. _

The sparkling of her dress from her backside held him captive and he found himself standing closer to her. Tears fell from her eyes faster than she could wipe them away with the backs of her hands and he felt a strong need to comfort her. His hands hovered over her shoulders, remembering how soft her skin had been under his palms as they danced, and he thought it inappropriate to touch her with empathy when he only wanted to feel her skin once more. He had no experience with such matters and he felt inadequate when it came to romantic notions, so he nervously retracted his hands and placed them at his sides. He spotted an unopened bottle of Elf-made wine and moved to retrieve it from under the cabinet just before she turned around.

Picking up the bottle, he wiped away the light layer of dust that had collected on it, and berated himself for being the cause of her current state of mind. He considered taking his leave so she could go back to managing her life without his presence to remind her of events that would be best forgotten, but when he turned to walk away, the image of the Creevey boy's face came to the forefront of his mind, and he could not move.

Snape remembered how the boy carried that confounded camera everywhere he went. Snape had confiscated the offending contraption in his second year potions class because the flash had ruined a fresh shipment of rare Gillyweed when the young wizard snapped a picture of it. Shaking his head, Snape tried to rid his mind of the memory, and an urgent sense of remorse washed over him. Although he had struggled to deal with Dumbledore's death, he had successfully avoided thinking of the ones who had fallen during the war, especially the students.

He placed the wine bottle on the counter and began opening and closing cabinet doors in search of glasses, slamming them with more force than was needed. Miss Granger realized what he was looking for, and she pulled two clean vessels from the dishwasher, and placed them in his hands. She also pulled out two clean plates and habitually closed the appliance with her knee, thinking how exceptional it was to be working in the kitchen with Severus Snape.

She sliced the bread and began preparing the tomatoes. From the corner of her eye, she saw him admiring the elaborate etching of the Hogwarts crest on the outside of the goblets before pouring the wine.

"They were a housewarming gift from Professor McGonagall. I had four originally, but Crookshanks met with two of them while prowling on the mantle in the den. I often neglect my domestic duties, I'm afraid, and I do not wish to have a House Elf constantly cleaning up my messes."

Snape glared at the orange beast who was sitting in the corner of the room with one leg straight up cleaning his testicles. He stopped for a moment when he heard his name, and studied the wizard, but he quickly returned to his gratifying task when he saw he had not been called to eat.

Thankful to be thinking of something other than deceased students, Snape filled the goblets, rolling his eyes, amused with the cat. _You should be so lucky_. _Dreadful beast._

He handed one to Miss Granger and held up his own. She raised her glass and clinked hers against his, exchanging a silent toast to memories of the past. Their eyes locked for a split second, and there was a mutual understanding of contrition regarding the war, but they both looked away at the same time, quietly trying to avoid thinking of lost acquaintances. Most of all, they tried to suppress the heavy space of the last five years. Draining the burgundy substance, the flavor brought to mind the green grass of Hogwarts grounds, and they both closed their eyes to allow the soothing liquid to enter their bodies.

The wine instantly penetrated her empty system and she welcomed the tranquil feeling it brought about. Glancing at her former professor, she wondered if it had the same effect on him. He sat on a stool across from her and pinched the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. His usual pallor had taken on a pinkish glow, and the rims of his eyes were reddish in color. She noticed for the first time that his eyelashes were very long and she quickly looked away. She assumed he was dealing with his usual personal hell, but she was concerned that she had never seen him show sadness before now, and she eyed him more closely. Catching her watching him, he exhaled, and refilled their glasses, motioning to her full glass to divert her eyes away from his tearful ones. She graciously reached for the stem and decided to say nothing about his emotions.

She returned to her task of preparing the sandwiches and he sipped his wine while peering at her through the glass. The Chinese stick in her hair was no longer doing its job effectively and long strands of her wavy hair fell to the sides of her face, framing the lonely, lined eyes of his former student. The woman's hands that now carefully prepared their meal had been the very hands that had pulled him from the icy fingers of death in the Shrieking Shack and then again to freedom while fleeing through the parking garage. He had yet to understand her motives for saving him, and he mulled over every possibility. She should have hated him, but she did not. _Perhaps she saved me because she loved me._ He snorted into his glass and almost choked when he laughed. _Preposterous_! _The wine is certainly doing its job_, he thought as he reached for the bottle to pour another glass.

Needing to make conversation, she glanced in the rubbish at the discarded contents of her cooler, and she began to explain. "I live alone and I order in a lot." Throwing down the knife, she grabbed her finger, and yelped, "Damn! Damn! Damn!"

He was up before she could swear another time, and he trailed his finger along the small cut, carefully closing the wound. Taking a nearby towel, he gently wrapped it around her finger to wipe up the blood, and he held it firmly between both of his hands.

"Thank you," she gasped. "I'm such a…" Her sentence was interrupted by the sudden realization that he had performed a healing spell with wandless, silent magic. Her pupils dilated with admiration and her mouth gaped open. She gasped, "You are certainly full of surprises tonight, Professor!"

Holding onto her recently healed hand with his left, he quirked an eyebrow, and placed the forefinger of his right to his lips.

Leaning her forehead on his chest, she whispered, "Your secret is safe with me."

He could hardly breathe under the slight weight of her head resting on his chest and he had no idea why she was so astounded by a simple healing spell. He knew he could trust her with his secret, but he felt guilty for having acted upon his impulse. His actions had put her in a position to potentially lie on his behalf should the small spell be detected. At the moment, he didn't care, but he appreciated the closeness of one who had walked through the grips of hell alongside him. Closing his eyes, he reassured his mind that her feelings for him were purely platonic, and that her actions were merely out of gratitude for healing her finger, and nothing more. It had felt good to help her in some small way after all she had done for him.

His arms encircled her and drew her closer to his chest. She smelled of faint Muggle perfume and sweat from the humid night air. It was a fragrance he would not soon forget.

She withdrew from his embrace. "I'm sorry, Professor! It's just…I'm just hungry and the wine has gone completely to my head. I don't know what came over me!"

The warmth of her body leaving his made him suddenly feel cold and alone. He wanted to take her in his arms and never let go of her again, but he took her by the shoulders and led her to a stool, instead, and motioned for her to sit. Holding up his hand, he signaled for her to stay put as he backed away, removing his tuxedo jacket. He hung it on a hook on the back of the door and unbuttoned another small black button of his white shirt. Rolling up his sleeves as he returned to the countertop, he took his goblet, and drained the remaining wine left inside of it.

She was satisfied that the fine, masculine hair she had seen when they danced seemed to grow thicker down his chest and she could not remove her eyes from it. She had never seen him in anything but his conservative teaching regalia and she reveled in his relaxed attire. Her attention went immediately to his forearms and she watched his skilled hands prep and slice exactly as she had seen him do many times in his potions laboratory. She had admired and manicured his apt hands while he had been in hospital and she noticed that he had maintained them over the past five years. Her mind began to wonder what the rest of his body looked like underneath his clothing and she regretted not having taken a gander while she had been his nurse. Cleansing spells had served her well, and she had been tempted on many occasion to peek, but respect for his privacy and fear of his waking while in the process had kept her from doing so. She distracted her mind by inspecting the pink scar on her finger that he had healed, and she reflected on the events of the evening.

Knowing that Miss Granger had always demonstrated excellent skill and precision with a knife during potion making, he believed her accident was the result of nerves. She had not coped with the post traumatic stress she had suffered from the Final Battle and he was concerned that she had not lived as full of a life as he would have liked for her. She appeared to be as reclusive as he tended to be, and he felt kindred to her, but he was angered by the thought that her best friends had abandoned her.

The wine in her empty system was making her sleepy, but when he placed the plate with the beautifully constructed extra-large roast beef sandwich in front of her, her stomach rumbled louder than ever before, and she fell into a fit of giddy laughter.

He could only smile as he joined her on the adjacent stool.

Picking up the sandwich, she held it in front of her face, and gushed, "That is the most perfect work of art I have ever seen come out of any kitchen! I am almost sad I am going to eat it." Closing her eyes, she filled her mouth with a bite bigger than she could easily chew. Somehow she managed to swallow and attacked the rest of it in a manner that demonstrated she was famished.

Snape ignored her use of poor table manners, and devoured his own meal, appreciating the fact that he didn't have to be on his guard around her. He knew the alcohol had taken away some of their inhibitions, but he had never seen her eat that fast before, and he licked the spicy mustard from his fingers that dripped from between the layers of his sandwich. She had always been one to pick at her food and he was satisfied that he could please her with something as simple as a sandwich. He could not understand how she had managed to keep her slender figure with the poor eating habits she had acquired over the years. In his mind, he began to plan meals that he would enjoy preparing for her if given the chance. However, he knew his evening with her would soon come to a close, and he was uncertain if the opportunity to cook for her would ever be possible.

As she picked the last crumbs from her plate, she exhaled. "That was delicious, Professor. As many times as I have seen you preparing ingredients for Potions, I never imagined you as a master chef. Isn't that funny?"

He nodded and took the last bite of his food.

"After your trial, I took a few months off to spend with my parents and then I went to University. I got my Masters of Potions in two years and I wrote a book, which I am proud to say is a smashing success." Licking her fingers, she joked, "And I am now _fabulously_ important for being something other than Harry Potter's friend!"

He raised his glass to her and smiled briefly. _Ahh there it is. The spark. The smile. She has found her niche, after all._ She clinked her goblet to his and they drained the wine as quickly as they could swallow it up. She poured the rest of the bottle, evenly distributing the last drop, and rested her elbow next to her empty plate. Propping her chin on her hand, she studied him, and her facial expression went from being elated to somber. She had his full attention.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you die as you wanted." Her voice was sad and sincere as she twisted the stem of her wine glass in circles.

He had not expected her to say such a thing so easily. In fact, he had forgotten for a short time that any of that part of his life had ever occurred. The evening had been a fresh start with only shadows of characters from his past life and he had actually enjoyed being alive since he had seen her exiting the ladies room in the lobby of the theatre.

He put his hand on top of hers to stop the infernal twisting of her glass and she looked at him with surprise. Placing his forefinger over her lips, he did not want her to speak anymore of that dreadful night Nagini had almost claimed his life. He simply wanted his life to continue as it had for the past few hours.

She closed her eyes and kissed his finger before pulling his hand to cup her cheek. She kissed the inside of his palm and pressed his hand to the side of her face. "I have missed you so very much," she breathed.

He realized that he had missed her, as well, and he quivered under her touch. Confusion overtook him with the unfamiliar feelings of desire for the young witch and he was further distracted by the fact he had never before allowed anyone close enough to touch him in such a gentle manner. She held a power over him that he could no longer deny, and the guilt of being completely alone with her clouded his conscience. Panic began to set in when he lost all sense of time and place and he was certain he should soon return to the theatre. He stood rigidly in front of her, preparing to take his leave, and she rose from her stool to softly touch his face with her fingers. Every nerve in his body was aflame with uncertainty and need. The tenderness she displayed was foreign to him and he thought he might faint. She had shown him a glimpse of a life he knew he could never have, but he was in a trap that he had no desire to escape.

Her moistened eyes held him captive and she whispered softly, "I've waited for five years to see you to thank you for everything you've done. You have sacrificed every aspect of your life for the light and I wanted you to know that I didn't want you to die because I _cared_ for you." Inhaling a deep breath, her face contorted into a full blown cry and she wiped the falling tears with the backs of her hands. Her voice became louder the more she spoke each syllable. "And Dumbledore…He asked too much of you…He asked too much from all of us…And he manipulated…I'm angry with him, Professor, and I _hate _him for it!"

The guilt from years of chastising and loathing her overtook him and he could only take her in his arms and clutch her to his chest with silent apology. Although Minerva had given him permission to be angry, the young witch in his arms held the key that unlocked the vault to his most guarded regrets, yet she did not hate him for his past transgressions. Her forgiveness had been immediate in the desolate, creaky shack that should have been his grave, and even then she had offered him absolution. Now she had so easily said aloud the words he had never been able to utter and he felt kindred to her for those words alone. In that moment, he knew she was the only person in the world who had the intelligence and fortitude to truly comprehend the depth of his lifetime of silent agony. He had been held prisoner, not only by the Ministry, but by his own cantankerous mind, and now he was free from the chains of self-loathing.

Pulling the Oriental stick from her hair, he dropped it beside her plate, and stroked her silky locks, returning the gentle affection of her touch. He felt obligated to rid her of the emotional scars she had suffered from the twisted evil that had plagued their world. She had paid more than her share of the price, even after the war had been won.

When he touched her, she felt as though she had been broken into pieces, and put back together in the matter of a second with a glue that could not be mitigated. His mere presence had been like an elixir for her soul, relieving her of having to constantly be on guard from fleeting memories or recurring nightmares, and her relief spilled out all at once. Her arms went around his waist before she could think better of it and she pressed her face against his chest. She didn't hear it, but she felt an unexpected gasp of air fill his lungs, and flurry her hair with his warm breath when he exhaled. She sighed openly and wet his shirt with her tears.

"Oh, Professor! I'm s-so s-sorry! It's just…" Her pent up emotions overwhelmed her to the point that she gave up speaking to just cry and hold onto the only wizard in the world who had ever made her feel truly safe. "Nightmares…" She squeaked. "E-every time I close my eyes Professor Dumbledore is crying tears of blood!" Hermione took in a deep, gratifying breath in preparation for the tears to follow.

He became frustrated that he could not whisper to her that everything would be ok or speak softly to her until she regained her senses. Her hot breath penetrated the tight weave of his tuxedo shirt, and he could feel her heart beating fast against his chest between rasps of sobs that shook her body. She reaffirmed her clasp around his waist and he enfolded her tighter in his arms in an attempt to absorb some of her pain.

She clutched the back of his shirt with her fists and he felt her hands close to his flesh, making him tingle in ways he never had before. Resting is chin on the top of her head, he stroked her silky hair, and rubbed small circles with his fingertips on the smooth skin of her back between her shoulder blades. He knew well the dream and he found it ironic that hers was very similar to his. They fought a mutual war to survive the memories of dark timesl while hanging on to their remaining threads of sanity. He wanted to ask her for more details about her dream, but that would have to be a topic for another time, should there be another time.

From the way she was shaking and crying, he believed she had not spoken of her feelings until this moment. He did not want her to carry the burden of hating anyone, even Albus. The fine lines deepening her eyes proved she had seen more death and battle than any other witch her age, and it had probably ruined any chance of happiness she may have had otherwise. She had fought valiantly to save her world and her friends, and had also been used as a decoy in Dumbledore's strategy to bring down the Dark Lord. The war had taken her innocence, and he wanted to give it back. He knew exactly how she felt because he carried the memories and the guilt around with him every moment of every day and he didn't want such a vibrant young woman to completely shut herself away from feeling as he had done. Closing his eyes, he took refuge in her embrace, and she in his, recovering from a mutual enemy, and he fought to hold back his own tears of rage. She had given him absolution from the transgressions of his past and he needed for her to be the inquisitive know-it-all he had come to…_love_.

Hermione broke the hug to reach for a napkin. She covered her face with the flimsy white paper and blew her nose into it. Balling it up in her hand, she exhaled a long sigh, and managed a slight smile. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to…"

Placing his finger on her lips, he silenced her once again, and gently turned her face to look at him. He gave her a reassuring glance, and wiped the last tear from her eye with his thumb.

She leaned forward and placed a slow kiss between his cheek and the corner of his mouth. He was shocked and frozen. _As beautiful as she was, she is still my student, or was, or well, not anymore, but technically I taught her at one time._ He parted his lips in preparation to tell her to stop, but he could only close his eyes and let the moment absorb into him. His rational mind believed it would be inappropriate for him to stay any longer, but the rest of him thought differently, and he never wanted to leave.

She drew back and looked up at him with trusting, watery eyes. Her gaze remained fixed on his, like she had just found something valuable she had lost. He allowed her to take advantage of his unguarded moment, and he found refuge in her understanding, as well as her intellect. She was the only positive token from his past that still regarded him as a strong, needed wizard, and he appreciated the reprieve from the life of being a loathed felon.

Caressing her cheek with his thumb, he could no longer deny his feelings for her, and he was certain he could drown in the wide pools of amber staring up at him. He had a pressing need to immerse himself in her ocean, and become anointed with the nectar of everything he knew to be good and right. Abandoning all reason, he closed his eyes, and inhaled through his nose on his descent to her lips. His kiss landed full on her soft, flawless mouth, and was surprised by her audible sigh of acceptance. Her hands snaked up his chest and locked around his neck while she melted her body to his. Fisting her hair in his left hand, his right hand explored the soft, bare skin that covered the slope of her back, and their hearts savagely pounded in sync with the other.

She parted her lips, and his breathing became erratic when he felt the tip of her tongue graze his bottom lip.

They did not hear the 'pop' of Apparition when Harry arrived in the front of her flat in search of her.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped, grimacing. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

She let go of Snape while drawing her wand from between her breasts and pointed it at Harry's head before screeching at him. "Merlin's balls on a fucking stick, Harry! I'm _trying_ to have a fucking _life_! Can't you knock before you violate my privacy! You're lucky I didn't fucking blast you!"

Throwing his hands in the air with surrender, he lowered his voice to a more apologetic tone. "I'm sorry, Hermione! I tried calling your cell, but you didn't answer. McGonagall sent me to fetch Professor Snape."


End file.
